


I'll Take Care Of You, Baby

by Protostar, sirene312, Yesimawriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A baby - Freeform, All The Tropes, Angst and Feels, Auror Harry Potter, Chaos, Coffee Shops, Community: harrydracobang, Daily Prophet Writer Draco Malfoy, Denial, Disaster, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Infidelity, Galas, Harry/Draco Big Bang 2018, I am serious!, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Roommates, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and they were ROOMMATES, but not between Draco and Harry, can be interpreted as, oh my god they were roommates, so slow it takes the entire fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-13 13:31:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 71,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16018943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Protostar/pseuds/Protostar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirene312/pseuds/sirene312, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yesimawriter/pseuds/Yesimawriter
Summary: Due to an unexpected turn of events, Harry and Draco have to share an apartment as temporary roommates, but their situation only gets more complicated with the arrival and presence of a baby. How will these two boys manage to make it through a month of living with each other, when they also have to take care of a baby?“Potter!” An irritating, prissy voice called from somewhere. “Potter, open the door!”Harry quickly crossed the distance to the door. What he saw promptly made him freeze on the spot.At the entrance to their home, on their very doorstep, was a basket with white cushions and a pillow, and placed in the middle of all of that cosiness, wrapped up in a soft, white blanket, was a baby. A baby.





	I'll Take Care Of You, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: 
> 
> I would like to thank the BB mods writcraft and gracerene for working so hard and organising this fest. You made me feel so at ease, even though I was a first timer, and were so lenient! I would also like to thank violetclarity who has been a constant support by my side from the very beginning. She read the first half of this fic and was the best alpha I could have asked for! I love you so, so much. gnarf, although she came in a little late, I want to thank for constantly pushing me to write and complete this fic using any means possible. You are the best friend I could hope to have, and always so encouraging! Also, you get all of the credit for helping me with my summary
> 
> Most of all, though, I would like to thank Sophia (unicornsandpheonix) for being the most amazing beta I could ever hope to have. She was the one who made this fic readable and she gets all of the credit, because she did it despite being very busy. I would also like to thank both my artists. Sirene (sirene312) you are amazing and I love talking to you. Your art always manages to blow my mind and especially the two pieces you drew for me! Sophia (prottostar), I had so much fun collabing with you and talking to you and your art is the absolute best. I hope you know that.
> 
> Lastly, I put my all into this fic and this amazing fest, so I hope all of you readers enjoy what I have written, because I know I most certainly did!
> 
> Artists Notes:
> 
> Sirene312-Firstly, I'd like to give the biggest shout out to Sherry for not only being a brilliant writer but also an absolute sweetheart that deserves all the love! I hope you will enjoy her story and the illustrations made by me and Sophia!  
> Also special thanks to our mods Grace and Writcraft for organizing this awesome fest! i'm glad to have had the opportunity of being part of this along with so many talented artists and writers!
> 
> Protostar-I immensely enjoyed creating my pieces for this collaboration. Reading a story, knowing that you will be illustrating parts of it, creates a completely different experience than just being a normal reader and it made me appreciate the writing, and dedication put into the story, so much more. I put my heart into trying to capture the mood of the writing in both my pieces and as a result both were incredibly fun to plan and create, and I hope my love for this story and project comes through in them.

“Can you believe it, mate?” Ron asked, patting Harry on his back. “This was our last day of training, this is it.”

Harry, who was still busy packing his holdall, nodded his head in agreement. “I can’t, actually. I know that we’ve only been training for three years but I feel like we’ve been here forever. Can you even remember what life was like before all of this?”

The door to their room was open and the noise from outside slowly leaked in. All around them, in rooms identical to the one Harry and Ron had been staying in, were Aurors-in-training just like them, who were now packing up to leave and go back to their families. Harry had to admit that he would miss staying in the same room as Ron, the fun that he had had while training with him and with all of the friends that he’d made along the way.

“I’ll miss this, you know,” Ron said, looking back at their room for the last time. He was ready to go, with his two bags slung across his shoulders and his feet outside the room.

“Me too,” Harry replied. He zipped his bag close, hitched it up on his shoulder and stepped out of their room, resisting the urge to glance back at it just like Ron had. “But at least you’ll get to see Hermione again.”

Ron grinned at that, turning off the lights and closing the door to their room. It wasn’t like they hadn’t met with their friends and family in the past three years; in fact, they had seen them more times than Harry could count. It was just that whenever Harry and Ron had met the Weasleys or Hermione or any of their friends, they had been so busy or pre-occupied by their Auror training that they hadn’t had time to properly relax or have fun. Now that the training was over though, Harry and Ron could both finally properly breathe.

“How are things going with you and Ginny?” Ron suddenly asked. Harry turned and blinked at him.

“Things are going fine,” Harry said, wondering what had brought on that line of thought in Ron’s head. Things had been going more than fine where Harry and Ginny’s relationship was concerned, but Ron usually avoided talking about it, even though Harry knew that he approved of their relationship and was even secretly thrilled about it. “Why? Did Ginny say that something was wrong?”

Ron looked at Harry for a few seconds longer than was necessary and then sighed. “No, mate, but you know that Mum’s been bugging me to ask, and even Ginny wants to know.”

Confused, Harry asked, “What? What has everyone been asking you about?”

“About the ring, and when you’re going to pop the question,” Ron said, nervously scratching the back of his head.

It took Harry a long moment to realise what Ron was talking about. “Oh, you mean when am I going to ask her to marry me?” At Ron’s nod of confirmation, Harry continued to answer his question. “Well, I’ve already got the ring, and I was planning on proposing to her at the party.”

“Wow, really?” Ron seemed surprised, as if he hadn’t considered the fact that Harry was going to ask Ginny’s hand in marriage to be true until Harry had confirmed it himself.

“Yeah,” Harry said, not being able to help the rush of excitement that bubbled inside of him at the thought of getting married and having a family. The Weasleys were his family, of course, but this would be him and Ginny growing a family of their own. The thought made him feel giddy. “What do you think, mate?”

“I think you should go for it. I know that Mum and Dad will be quite happy about it, and Ginny will be absolutely thrilled. She’s been talking about that and her Quidditch World Tour for months according to Hermione, so it’s about time you asked her. You know that the rest of us support you no matter what, Harry. I always will.”

Harry smiled at Ron. Of course he knew that, and this was why Ron was Harry’s best friend. “Thanks, Ron. That really means a lot to me.”

“I think Mum’s going to make treacle tart for you by the way. ‘Mione told me she’s got a recipe book for it and everything.” Ron immediately changed the subject, but Harry was thankful for it anyway.

“Hmmm, I guess I have that to look forward to now,” Harry muttered in response. Words couldn’t explain how grateful Harry was to be a part of the Weasley family because not only was he treated as one of Molly and Arthur’s own children, he was pretty sure he was their favourite one.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco straightened his tie and smoothed down his crisp new robes without looking in the mirror, he didn’t need to. Taking a deep breath, he tried to remember everything that he was taught as a child, _keep your head high, show no signs of weakness, never let them know that they have got to you and always stay polite and proud_. _Polite and proud._

He nodded his head at that thought. He was a Malfoy and no matter what had happened in the past, he must always stay polite and proud. Casting a quick Tempus Charm, he made sure that he was not running late for the interview. The last thing he needed was for the _Daily Prophet_ interviewers to think that Draco Malfoy was tardy along with being Death Eater scum who deserved to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his life. A bitter smile grew on Draco’s face at that notion; he did love his self-deprecating jokes.

“Draco, darling, you have been in there for more than an hour, are you done or are you dead?” A familiar cutting voice asked, eliciting a roll of Draco’s eyes in response.

“I will be out in just a second, Pansy,” Draco said, finally looking into a mirror. He knew that there was a spell to turn any object into a reflective surface but there were times when he preferred to do things the Muggle way.

“Should we wait another half an hour or Alohomora the door open?” Blaise asked Pansy, rather loudly in Draco’s opinion.

He sighed, taking a last look in the mirror before unlocking and opening the door to his room. He stepped out with a file in his hand, nodded at Pansy and Blaise as he walked past them, hearing small, exasperated sighs of ‘finally’ from the both of them, and then proceeded to Apparate straight to where the _Daily Prophet_ was located.

There was no need for him to get nervous or worry about what would happen if things went wrong because Draco had done his research and he had the skills required to become a writer at the _Daily Prophet_ , but he was also aware of the fact that he would not have been asked for an interview had he not known someone within the office. It had been a little over three years since the war and no one was going to risk hiring an accused Death Eater just yet.

He resisted the urge to muss up his gelled back hair and breathed in deeply. No, Draco decided, he was not just skilled at writing. The section of the _Prophet_ that he was planning in working on was the celebrities and events section so this position seemed to have been made solely for him. He was a Malfoy after all, and he used to be both a celebrity and someone whose family had been known to arrange events that wizards and witches alike, throughout the years, had looked forward to.

 

* * *

 

 

“Surprise!” Everyone yelled out as soon as Harry and Ron had stepped foot into the Burrow. Neville, Luna, Dean, Seamus, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys stood in front of them frantically waving their hands with accompanying smiles on their faces. There were banners saying ‘Congratulations!’ hung on the walls and streamers attached to their sides. Every inch of the Burrow was decorated and the place looked absolutely stunning, in Harry’s opinion.

As everyone exchanged hugs and words of encouragement with Ron and Harry, Molly came forward to hug them both. “Oh, boys, I hope you know how proud we are of both of you.”

Harry couldn’t stop the smile that crossed his face. It widened when he saw Ron rolling his eyes at Molly’s words, even going as far as fake gagging at them. In the end, Molly did notice and whapped Ron over his head. “Ouch, Mum!” Ron exclaimed.

Harry laughed as he thanked her and turned to come face to face with Ginny. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Ginny said, hugging him tightly. He hugged her back just as tight, giving her a soft kiss on the lips. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” Harry replied truthfully; he had missed her a lot. He turned to search for Hermione, and found her and Ron having a moment. “I’ll be right back, Gin,” he said.

A warm feeling developed in his stomach as he walked towards his two best friends, one that was similar to ones he’d had several times throughout the years every time they had achieved something together or after they had faced some kind of a difficulty, or even when they had defeated Voldemort himself. They were the closest thing that he had to a family, and he wasn’t afraid to say or admit it.

“Hey, guys,” he greeted them.

“Harry,” Hermione said, pulling him into a hug, “Congratulations, I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks, Hermione.”

“Yeah, congratulations, Harry,” Ron said, and in one of the rarest moments of his life, pulled Harry into a hug.

Harry grinned at the slightly awkward yet heartfelt gesture. “Congratulations to you too, mate.”

“Merlin knows we deserve it with everything that we’ve been through these past few years,” Ron added.

“Yeah, we do,” Harry agreed, and soon enough all three of them were catching up on what they had missed since the last time that they had met or talked to one another.

“Wait,” Hermione whispered, her eyes wide as she stared at Harry. “You’ve got the ring with you right now?” Ron had filled Hermione in on the details after she had brought up the topic of Harry and Ginny’s wedding.

Harry was surprised at how every single person seemed to know that he was going to propose before he had. He would even go as far as to say that they were looking forward to it a lot more than he was. Thoughts of spending lazy Sunday afternoons with Ginny and their two kids in the distant future crept into Harry’s mind as Ron and Hermione discussed what he was about to do, and it gave him a feeling of joy that he could not really explain or put into words.

He nodded in response to Hermione’s question and patted his right sided pocket. “It’s right here,” he said. “I’m planning on asking her after dinner, just before everyone leaves.”

Hermione smiled at that and turned to look at Ron. “Ron, do you remember the day that you proposed to me?”

Ron nodded his head as he shuddered, “It was before you went back to Hogwarts to complete your seventh year and I went for Auror training. We were right here, at the Burrow, and I was extremely red in the face and sweating buckets.”

“We all thought that you were going to faint at any moment. George and Bill even made a bet to see how long you would last,” Harry said, nudging Ron.

“I think I did a great job of asking Hermione to marry me since she said yes,” Ron murmured, glaring at both Harry and Hermione. It didn’t escape Harry’s notice that Ron had wrapped a hand around Hermione’s waist and pulled her close to his side when he had said that.

Hermione laughed, looking fondly up at Ron as she spoke, “You dropped the ring box when you got on your knee. I had to pick it up and ask _you_ if you wanted to marry me.”

“It was more of a proposal from Hermione than it was from you, Ron,” Harry said with a grin.

“I still can’t believe you said yes,” Ron said, filled with awe as he looked at Hermione.

She wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss that made Ron turn completely red. “Well of course I did, Ronald! Who else was I going to marry?”

 

* * *

 

 

Since wizards were not allowed to own house-elves anymore, the Malfoys were forced to hire them in order to cook for them. This was no problem for Draco, who had learned to cook somewhat adequately from the moment that he had started living with Blaise and Theo, but he could tell that it was a hassle for his mother and father.

“Draco, dear,” his mother started to say as all three of them waited for the dessert to arrive and be served. “Your father and I were talking earlier and we were wondering what your thoughts are on Astoria.”

Draco was seated across from his father and mother at the dining table, making it seem like they were having some kind of an intervention. Perhaps, Draco mused, they were. He was probably the only one who did not know it yet.

Draco looked over at his mother, a little confused at that unexpected question. “I have met her a few times, Mother, and she seems quite pleasant.”

“The Greengrasses were telling me all about their younger daughter the last time we met, and I do believe that they quite like you, Draco. In fact, we quite like her for you too,” Lucius added after taking a sip of his wine.

It took a few moments for Draco to realise what his father had just implied and his mother had been trying to tell him. “We have already spoken about this, Father. I am not going to get married.”

He had known that it would come up in their conversation eventually. His mother and father never quite strayed far away from the subject, so really he should not have been surprised.

“If you do not like Astoria, then what about Pansy? You two have been such good friends for years and she is enamoured by you,” Narcissa insisted.

“Mother, Pansy is with Blaise, and I have never liked her like that. I would appreciate it if you would both stop talking about this. I do not wish to get married, I simply wish to mend our tarnished reputation so that we can live as freely as we used to,” Draco replied with his eyes blazing. He knew that his father and mother cared about him and wished him well, but sometimes it all got to be a bit too much.

Thankfully, his owl swooped in at that very moment, breaking the tension as it landed a letter in front of Draco. “It’s from the _Daily Prophet_ ,” his father observed. Draco was far too interested in finding out the content of the letter to hear him.

His mother and father silently looked on as Draco read a piece of parchment and then looked up with a smile on his face, eyes shining bright. “I got the position! They’ve written here that my interview went brilliantly and the Head of the Celebrity and Events Department looks forward to working with me personally.”

Narcissa and Lucius immediately got up from their seats to congratulate him.

“Congratulations, Draco. Your mother and I are very proud of you,” Lucius said, patting Draco on his back. Draco tried to hide a smile at that statement but failed.

“Thank you, Father,” he said, and noticing the way that Lucius had awkwardly held his arms out for him, went in for a quick hug.

He then turned to face his mother who hugged him tightly as she said, “I know that you think that all we want from you is a purebred child and for the Malfoy name to mean what it used to, but the truth is, dear, that all we want is for you to be happy.” Draco could feel his eyes burning as tears started to form, and tried his hardest to blink them away. “As long as you’re happy, Draco, so are we.”

Of course Draco was happy. His father had told him that he was proud of him, his mother had said that she loved him no matter what, and he had just received a job at the _Daily Prophet_. There was no reason for Draco not to be happy, was there?

 

* * *

 

 

Draco opened the door to his flat, exhausted. Although dinner with his father and mother had gone quite well, it had also drained him emotionally. After getting changed, he decided to relax by grabbing a book from his room and settling out in the living room on the couch to continue reading it. He was just getting to the climax of the story and had begun to flip the page when Blaise walked out of his room.

Draco had become so involved in reading the book that he didn’t even notice that Blaise was walking towards him, nervously wringing his hands. It was when Blaise sat down next to him that Draco finally looked up.

“Draco, I need to speak to you about something important,” Blaise said, seeming quite serious.

“Is it your mother, Blaise? Is she getting a divorce again? I’m sure she will find someone she wants to settle down with eventually,” Draco responded with mirth in his eyes. His lips only twitched slightly upwards but otherwise, his face showed no signs of betrayal.

“No, actually. I need your advice on something that I’m about to do,” Blaise replied shortly, and Draco was intrigued.

He realised that whatever Blaise was going to say to him or ask of him was quite significant in nature, and after glancing at the page number, he closed his book and kept it to the side. “What is this about?”

Blaise seemed to brace himself for a moment before he spoke, “I want to ask Pansy to move in with me.”

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise. Blaise and Pansy had been dating for quite a while. They had both seemed happier than Draco had seen them in a long time, but he had always assumed, just like Theo, that their relationship would slowly dissolve and turn back into friendship.

“How long have you wanted to ask her that?” Draco raised an eyebrow questioningly at him.

“It’s been on my mind ever since Theo moved out of our flat a few months ago and into Daphne’s.” Blaise looked over at him with a hint of unsurety in his eyes. “Do you think that now is the right time to ask her, or should I wait?”

Draco saw the determination that shone on Blaise’s face and remembered the way he looked at Pansy whenever he thought she wasn’t looking, and the way she looked back at him. He never would have thought that his two best friends would get into a relationship and develop such deep feelings for each other, but they had, and he truly couldn’t be happier for them.

“I think that you should ask her to move in with you immediately,” Draco said.

Blaise blinked at that, taking a few seconds to comprehend Draco’s words. “Really? Are you sure?”

“I am absolutely positive, Zabini. Go call her right now,” Draco demanded in that posh tone of voice and authority, holding his head up high. Blaise nodded slightly, gratefully.

“Thanks, Draco,” he muttered as he rushed out of the room and into his own. Draco stared after him, glancing at the door to Blaise’s room for a long second before picking up his book and flipping it to the correct page to resume reading it.

 

* * *

 

 

His heart was pounding, no it was racing, as he felt the solid square lump in his pocket for the fiftieth time in an hour. All around him, his friends and family seemed to be laughing and smiling and chattering away, unaware of the way Harry was feeling at that moment. Wiping the sweat off of his forehead, he concentrated on Luna and Neville’s conversation and tried to join in, but apparently he wasn’t being as subtle as he had thought.

He felt a slight pressure on the side of his arm and turned around to see Ginny standing in front of him. He excused himself from the conversation as she pulled him to the side. “Hey,” Harry said, greeting her with a smile.

“Harry, are you alright?” she asked, a hint of concern in her voice. “You look a little…out of it.”

“I’m fine, Gin, just tired after our last day of training,” Harry lied, and Ginny nodded her head thoughtfully.

“I can imagine. I’m surprised you’re still managing to stand upright, if I had just come back from one of my practice matches, I would be sprawled across the couch,” she said.

“I think Molly would kill me if I did that at a party,” Harry said with a laugh.

“Oh, please. Mum loves you to bits, she would never even say a word to you,” Ginny replied with a snort, and Harry had to agree with her.

“So what time are you leaving for the tour tomorrow?” Harry asked and Ginny suddenly brightened up.

“Oh at five thirty in the morning, I think, so I’ll have to wake up very early,” she said. “I’m going to miss you so much, Harry.” Ginny hugged Harry as she continued, “But I’m also so excited for the Quidditch World Tour. We are going to kick some serious arse!”

“Ginny!” Molly reprimanded, and Harry struggled to hide his laughter. Only God knew how Molly had managed to hear Ginny say that over all of the noise.

“Sorry, Mum,” she muttered sheepishly, and Harry suddenly knew.

He knew that that was the moment to do it and he cleared his throat. He wasn’t surprised when nobody paid attention to him. “Everyone, I would like to have your attention,” Harry loudly declared. He looked over at Ginny as silence settled over them, her eyes slightly wide, lip quivering. “Ginny, you have made me the happiest man alive in the years that we have been together,” he said, taking a hint of a pause before getting down on his knees. He heard several gasps and whispers of ‘he’s actually going to do it’. “So all I want to ask you is–will you marry me?”

Shock overtook Ginny’s features, and her hands came up to cover her mouth. “Yes,” she answered softly, “yes, of course, Harry!”

Harry couldn’t hear anything after that as everyone burst into a round of applause and cheers and congratulations. As he slid the ring onto Ginny’s finger and stood up, he wondered if he could be any happier. He couldn’t be, could he?

 

* * *

 

 

Blaise burst into the living room just as Draco was finishing up with his book. “She said yes,” he announced breathlessly. Then he sat down considering his own words. “She said yes, Draco.”

Draco leaned forwards and patted Blaise on the shoulder before leaning back again, “Congratulations, I’m happy for you.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off of the page that he had been reading, but to be honest, he didn’t think that Blaise was expecting him to do so.

“You do know what this means, right?” Blaise asked, and Draco noticed the mood change all of a sudden. Blaise looked awkward again.

“Blaise, you know that I’ve never had a problem with having a female roommate, right? Even if you two will be sleeping in the same room,” Draco replied.

“Actually, Draco, we were thinking of shifting into a new flat,” Blaise said, and Draco could feel his heart sinking as he realised the direction this conversation was going in. “I’ve been searching for the past few weeks and I think I’ve found the perfect one. You can still stay here if you want,” he added, unhelpfully.

“Why would I want to stay in a three bedroom flat by myself?” Draco asked colder than was necessary, but he didn’t care, he was beyond pissed off. “How long do I have to find myself a new flat?”

“One week.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Harry, mate, have you decided where you’re going to live yet?” Seamus asked him after everybody had calmed down. Harry blinked at him confusedly.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you aren’t going to stay at the Burrow, are you? I doubt there are enough rooms in here to house another married couple, or enough space, if I’m being honest,” Seamus explained.

When he put it like that, it did make a lot of sense, “I hadn’t actually thought about it.”

“Unless you want to share a room with Ron and Hermione, I suggest you find a flat for just you and Ginny, and quickly.”

 

* * *

 

 

Draco let out a sigh of frustration as he went to check out the first flat of his choice. It had been out of absolute spite that he had refused to talk to Pansy and Blaise and check out any flats that either of them had recommended. It had also been a given, therefore, for him to have deliberately avoided going to any available flats of his own choice until he absolutely had to. So this was the first.

Now, Draco knew that he’d never been good with luck. He’d known that someone somewhere, whoever it was that controlled the actions of all wizard kind–the manipulative bastard–had always been out to get him. But he could never, in his wildest dreams, have imagined getting so unlucky as to have bumped into the one person that he had actively been avoiding seeing or thinking about for the past three years. Of course that very person seemed to have accidentally bumped into him as soon as he had stepped out of his current flat, and of course he seemed to have been going the same way, just as keen to look at the very flat that Draco himself was going to be checking out.

“How long have you been searching for a flat?” Oh, great. Small talk. Draco was actually going to have to give in to his ex-rival’s urge to have an awkward stilted conversation as they made their way to the same flat.

“A week,” Draco replied with a shrug. After all, Potter didn’t have to know that he’d spent the week just moping and generally suffering in front of his friends or laying around sighing as he thought of the great moments that he had spent in his current flat, ones that he couldn’t have anymore.

“Oh, me too,” Potter said, giving Draco a quick lip twitch. Ah, the lip twitch of small talk, Draco called it.

“I thought you were living with the Weasleys,” Draco drawled, “Getting tired of seeing gingers everywhere, or is it the commotion?” He felt a smirk growing on his lips as Potter responded with a glare and then sighed.

“It’s neither, actually,” he said, scratching the back of his head. It was a nervous tell, Draco absentmindedly thought. “I want to buy a new flat so that I can move in with Ginny.” Draco raised an eyebrow as the head-scratching motion increased, getting the feeling that there was something that Potter wasn’t telling him. “We’re getting married,” Harry blurted out, “Ginny and I.”

Draco’s other eyebrow rose to meet the previous one. Potter was marrying the She-Weasley? Why had Draco not heard of this? Surely, some newspaper or other ought to have covered this news.

As Potter caught his breath and looked at him expectantly, Draco finally obliged. “Blaise and Pansy have decided to move in together.” He stared at Potter, momentarily, to take in his expressions.

Potter nodded thoughtfully at that. “Hmmm, I guess it makes sense that they kicked you out then.”

Draco sent him an irritated look and noticed Potter’s lip twitching again. It wasn’t a small-talk-lip-twitch, however. This was lip twitch #2, the one that happened when Potter was trying not to smile or chuckle. Draco would take that as an improvement over lip twitch #1.

“They did not kick me out, Potter, I _chose_ to move out.” Potter’s look of confusion had Draco sighing. Really? Did he have to explain everything to the oblivious git? “It would not make sense for me to stay in a flat that big on my own.”

To Draco’s obvious relief, a look of understanding shown on Potter’s face. “Oh, so they’re moving out, then, or maybe moving into Parkinson’s place.”

“No, no, they certainly are moving into a new flat,” Draco grumbled. He was never forgiving them for that, and never letting them hear the end of it. He would pass this story of betrayal on through their generations, from their children to their grandchildren and from _their_ children to _their_ grandchildren. He wasn’t going to let a soul forget it.

He was suddenly distracted by the sound of Potter’s laughter, and turned to look at him. “Merlin, Malfoy,” Potter wheezed, and Draco pressed his lips together at him.

“Enjoying my plight are you, Potter?” Draco asked, trying not to show the amusement that he felt at Potter’s heartfelt laughter, and how he felt an intense urge to smile and laugh with him.

“No, of course not,” Potter replied as he tried to catch his breath. “It’s just that you looked like a child whose cookie had been stolen and, at the same time, like you wanted to murder someone.” Potter let out another laugh.

A smile finally broke through Draco’s lips and he shook his head. “Shut up, Potter,” he said, and Potter amicably bumped shoulders with him.

“Draco,” he said with fake awe, and Draco blinked in surprise at the use of his first name. “You can smile.”

He glared at Potter as Potter chuckled, relief breaking through as he noticed that they had reached the flat.

“I’m kind of leaving the Burrow for the opposite reason,” Potter said and Draco’s attention shifted from the flat over to Potter again. “I doubt that there will be enough room for another couple of people in the house.”

“Another couple–” Draco stared at Potter, wondering if he’d lost some important brain cells during his Auror training. “Potter, it’ll just be you and She-Weasley. Are you planning on asking any more women to marry you? Perhaps one of your old Hogwarts crushes?”

He noticed the darkening on Potter’s cheeks, a tinge of red, as he replied, “No, of course not, Malfoy. I meant like the kids and stuff, when we–you know–decide to have them.”

Draco blinked at that. Right, kids–children. He had almost forgotten that they existed. “Right,” he murmured, and for reasons unknown to him, found his own cheeks heating up. “Of course.”

Silence followed them for the last few steps that it took to get to the entrance of the flat.

As soon as Draco stepped foot into the flat, he fell in love with it. It was smaller than the one he currently lived in but somehow managed to feel more spacious instead of confining like it was supposed to feel. The entrance gave way to the living room, which seemed cosy and comfortable. Draco’s eyes roamed around the place as he tried to imagine it with newly painted colours and expensive wallpaper, maybe some moving paintings from one of those famous pure-blood painters his mother and father had hired for their anniversary once.

He could add a few shelves and display his favourite antique pieces, a few Malfoy classics which he had grown quite fond of over the years.

“This place is beautiful,” Potter said with a gasp, making Draco glance at him in annoyance. Did Potter really have to stand right next to him when he said that, and did he really have to look at Draco in a way that made it seem like he was waiting for Draco to agree with him?

Draco sighed. Potter was going to be the death of him. “Yes, it is. It’s too bad you won’t be living in it.” He had his mind already made up, this flat was _his_.

“Why don’t you take a look at the rest of the place?” The homeowner asked. Draco noticed the dangerous look in Potter’s eyes as he smiled sweetly at her.

“Of course,” Potter agreed, and Draco wondered what game he was playing.

The rest of the place was just as perfect according to Draco. There were two bedrooms in the place and Draco’s mind was already working on the changes that he was going to make to one of them so that he could turn it into a room where he would work on his articles for the _Daily Prophet_. The kitchen could be seen from the living room but there was a short corridor that led up to the bedrooms which were next to each other. They each had a bathroom of their own, and Draco reckoned that he could turn one of the bathrooms into a Potions Lab to experiment and have fun in.

As soon as the house tour was over, Draco turned to the owner of the flat and said, “I’ll take it.”

Before the owner could give him a response, Potter spoke up, “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Malfoy. I’m buying the place.”

Draco gritted his teeth, ignoring the flat owner’s words to Potter and choosing to just stare at him in the hopes that he would succeed in burning a hole through his head. “Excuse me? I said it first. I am buying this place and I will make sure you never get to see it again.”

“Well, why don’t we let Charlotte decided who will get the place? I’m sure she will make the right decision and choose someone worthy and deserving. Perhaps the Saviour and Chosen One?”

Draco snorted at that. Stupid Potter with his stupid hero complex, thinking that the owner would fall for his tricks–surely she wasn’t that naïve. But as Draco looked on, watching as Potter gave her a charming smile, watching as Charlotte almost swooned at it, he realised he was going to have to take matters into his own hands.

“I used to be a Death Eater,” he calmly stated. His grey eyes were half lidded and, as he leaned against an available wall, it was almost like he was back at Hogwarts, back to the years when his only connection to Potter was through his animosity and complete rivalry with him. Back when they were nothing more than archenemies. Draco drawled out in his posh Malfoy accent, resisting the urge to smile at the memories it brought forth, “I’m sure you know what that means, Charlotte, and you would not want me to get mad now, would you?” He made direct eye contact with her. Draco called it his personal power move.

Potter scoffed with disbelief at that, looking as if he was about to call Draco out for his bluff, but one look at Charlotte made him blink and stop in his tracks. She was a puddle on the floor, trembling with fright, and Draco almost, _almost,_ felt sorry for her. His priorities, however, lay elsewhere, and he needed to get this house. He could not let Potter win.

“Would you excuse us for a minute, Charlotte?” Potter asked, his tone gentle. “Malfoy and I need to _discuss_ some things.” He glared at Draco as he tightly held his arm, dragging him to a corner of the living room.

Draco pulled his arm out of Potter’s grasp. “What is it, Potter?” He spat out as he turned to fully face him.

“What is wrong with you?” Potter hissed. “You scared that poor girl.”

“What exactly was I supposed to do, Potter? You were trying to play your Saviour card so I tried playing my Death Eater one.” Draco shrugged at him.

“You were never– You were a horrible Death Eater, Malfoy,” Potter said, and Draco tried to act offended but he couldn’t help the warmth that settled in his stomach. He knew that it had come off as an insult or Potter had tried to word it as one, but even in his anger, he hadn’t dared to accuse Draco of doing something that he hadn’t done.

“Yes, well–” Draco struggled to respond with something biting and instead ended up saying, “Shut up, Potter.”

“I’m buying this place, Draco. I need it,” Potter said, and there he was calling Draco by his name again. Perhaps Potter thought that this would get Draco to give in and just listen to him. Maybe this was Potter’s power move.

Draco refused to acknowledge the fact that it would have worked had the circumstances been different. “I do believe that I need it more than you do,” Draco replied with a slight head tilt. He was right. They both knew that he was right.

Potter did not budge, however, and kept his eyes looking straight into Draco’s challengingly, and Draco was definitely not one to back down from a challenge when it came to Potter. “We could always duel,” Potter suggested, his posture confident but eyes unsure.

Draco knew that he thought it was a bad idea before even suggesting it. He knew that Potter was hoping Draco would back down or at least knock some sense into him, but Draco was on a whole new high. Besides, this was Potter. If winning against Potter in a duel was the last thing he ever got to do, then you could be sure that he would choose to do it in a heartbeat. “Yes, a duel seems to be the only way that we will be able to decide, Potter.”

Potter blinked at that. “A duel it is then.”

Draco only nodded. “We shall meet here in a week’s time, Potter, and I assure you that this time, you will lose.”

Draco walked away at that, without looking back even once, not even when Potter said, “I doubt it,” and tried to ignore the feeling of his heart sinking and his mind screaming at him, telling him that he had made an enormous mistake.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry stood outside the flat, walking from one side to another as he twirled his wand. He couldn’t help but think that he had made a huge mistake. He should have never suggested a duel or anything involving his wand being pointed at Draco Malfoy. He knew how that had turned out in the past, and he had yet to forgive himself for that. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. Draco just managed to get him so aggravated for absolutely no reason at all.

When they had been arguing, or _discussing,_ things a week ago, Harry had felt like they had gone back a few years, when even though the threat of Voldemort had hung in the air, they had just been Potter and Malfoy to one another, nothing more and nothing less.

As Harry stood there at that very moment though, he realised that they weren’t just that to each other anymore, things between them were so much more complex. Harry couldn’t raise his wand on Malfoy again, he just couldn’t.

“Hello, Potter,” Harry almost startled at hearing the familiar voice.

“Draco…” Harry trailed off, noticing the slight smirk playing on Draco’s lips, “…Malfoy.”

Malfoy looked over at him, his lips widening into a grin. “Scared, Potter?”

Harry rolled his eyes, the move a reflex. “You wish.”

They stood opposite each other, shoulders squared, eyes unblinking and not moving from each other’s, with their wands in their hands. Harry took a deep, shaky breath. He was trembling slightly, his hands shaking. Swallowing heavily, he was all ready to give up when he noticed the way Draco was holding his wand ever so tightly, his other hand clenched into a fist. Harry would have thought that it was out of anger, had he not looked into Draco’s eyes. Draco did not want to fight him either.

“We could make a temporary arrangement, you know. The flat has two rooms, and Ginny won’t be coming back for at least a month. We could stay together until then, and then, maybe, I don’t know, figure something out later?”

Harry saw Draco’s shoulders relax a little, his hands loosening slightly so that the veins in his arms were no longer popping out. “Not a chance, Potter. I want this entire flat to myself and I will not rest until I have it,” Draco haughtily stated.

“Can you atleast think about it, Malfoy?” Harry hissed, and then let his expressions soften, realising that he _really_ needed to convince Draco to listen to him. “Please,” he said, his tone gentle, “I don’t want to fight you or hurt you...again.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I still don’t understand what’s so bad about living with Potter,” Theodore Nott stated. Draco was out with his friend, and they were each holding a cone of ice-cream, licking it every so often.

“Do you ever hear yourself talk, Theo? It’s living with _Potter_ –that _is_ the bad part. It is the worst part,” Draco huffed out.

“Yeah, but is it really?” Theo asked, and not for the first time since he had moved out did Draco wonder if Theo had completely lost the plot. Did getting into a relationship and falling in love with someone change you, or perhaps loosen the very few screws you had in your head? Because Draco had a hard time believing that that hadn’t happened in Theo’s case.

“Theo, have you forgotten who Potter is? Who he was? How could you ever think that living in close quarters with him at all times could possibly be a good idea for me?” Draco claimed.

Letting out a deep breath, Theo replied, “Look, I get why you think that becoming roommates with Potter is a bad idea. You two were quite the ex-rivals, so I don’t blame you. But the war is over, Draco, and everyone’s changed. People are starting to believe in ‘new beginnings,’ and maybe you should too. After all, Potter did talk to you when you were walking towards the flat, didn’t he? And he spoke for you at the trials immediately after the war. That has to count for something.”

Draco stared down at his ice cream as it slowly began to melt, dripping down the cone and onto his hand. He sighed and licked the ice cream tracks, wiping his hand on a tissue, and finally looked up at Theo, only speaking when he glanced up from his own ice cream to look at Draco. “I’m an ex-Death Eater, Theo. I don’t get a new beginning, not when every wizard out there believes that I cannot change, and that I never will. Potter might be different, but–” Draco sighed, _but how could they make it work?_

“At least try, Draco. He might surprise you, and you might surprise yourself,” Theo said.

Draco nodded his head. “Potter does have a tendency to do that. I, however, do not.” Just as Theo opened his mouth again, surely ready with another point to convince Draco to stay in the same flat as Potter, Draco cut in. “I will try, though, because I like the flat, and it’s quite near to the _Daily Prophet_.” _And perhaps Potter would surprise him._

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you think, Luna? Do you think I did the right thing by asking him to share the flat with me? Should I have just given it to him instead?” Harry questioned, glancing over at one of his closest friends.

He knew that he wanted that flat. Harry had been searching for a whole week before he had come across Draco and the flat, and it had been perfect. It was everything that Harry had never known he had wanted, and now Harry _wanted_ it.

“I think you did the right thing, Harry,” Luna told him, giving him a reassuring smile. “Draco is a good friend, and he will make an even better roommate. I know that you like him.”

“No, Luna, I don’t–” Harry started to say. _I don’t know if I do._

“I know that you don’t dislike him anymore,” Luna said, her eyes following a kid who was playing with a football.

Harry took a deep breath as a rush of cold wind blew past them and said, “I hadn’t seen him for more than three years before I first met him a week ago, Luna. I don’t know if I— I can’t tell whether this is a good idea or not.” _I just need you to tell me that it’s not and talk me out of it._

“Just give it a try, Harry, just give Draco a chance. He might surprise you, and you might even surprise yourself,” Luna suggested instead.

Harry huffed out a breath, blowing back the hair that had fallen over his face. “Malfoy always has been unpredictable,” he murmured in agreement, and then he turned to her, having made a decision. “You’re right Luna. I’m going to give this roommates thing a try. After all it is just one month, what could possibly go wrong in such a short amount of time?”

 

* * *

 

 

Draco took a deep breath as he stepped into the Ministry. He could feel the tension in the air surrounding him and forced himself to look forward as he walked towards the reception.

“Hello, I am here to talk to Auror Potter,” he said. The woman sitting at the desk raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“And who might you be?” she asked.

He swallowed heavily. “Just tell him it’s Draco Malfoy, and I’ve come to talk to him about something important.”

Draco noticed the change in her expressions when he said his name, but she buzzed Potter in anyway.

It was a mere five minutes later that Potter showed up with a surprised look on his face. “Draco,” he said, blinking at him. “Come on up.”

He was tempted to decline the offer and tell Potter that they should talk right where they were, but the woman at the reception kept giving him dirty looks, so he decided to follow Potter. The urge to keep his head down as he walked was immense and Draco had to struggle to continue looking straight ahead.

Thankfully, something Draco hadn’t anticipated was Potter’s enthusiasm when it came to small talk. It seemed the man hated uncomfortable silences more than he did awkward, stilted conversations. So he spoke up.

“I was actually thinking about calling you, you know,” Potter said. “About our roommates situation. I was going to ask you to reconsider. I think we should give it a chance, it won’t be that bad. I’m sure we can act at least a bit civil around each other if nothing else.”

“That is what I came here to talk about, Potter,” Draco said, and he saw Potter halt, take a pause, and then turn to look at him. “I accept.”

“You, _what_?” Potter looked at him in shock.

“I accept your offer to be roommates. As you said, we have both liked the flat, and after a month, perhaps you can find a new one,” Draco added with a quick smirk.

Ah, Potter’s lip was twitching again, and he had that look in his eyes that Draco recognised all too well. That was the look Potter had often given Draco at Hogwarts, when he had just been itching to fight with Draco, either verbally or physically. It had also often been accompanied by lip twitch #3 as Potter had tried to reign in what he had wanted to say and had tried to control his anger. Of course, Draco had made sure to get Potter to fail at that every chance he’d had. He had stopped after things had unknowingly gone wrong in sixth year, though.

“Right,” Potter said. He cleared his throat. “Right.” He opened the door to his office, stepping to the side so that Draco could walk in first.

Draco’s eyes swept the office and then he addressed Potter who was standing next to him. “Your office seems unexpectedly posh and tidy,” he commented.

Potter shrugged as he replied. “They just gave me the biggest Auror’s office even though I’m practically a newbie.”

“The advantages of being the Boy Who Lived Twice,” Draco said, trying to keep the jealousy and bitterness out of his voice.

“You know, I did actually die the second time. So that’s the Boy who Lived, then Died, and was then Revived.” Potter said casually.

Draco blinked at Potter. He blinked and he blinked and then he responded. “Too long. I shall just call you Potty and get it over with.”

“Then what should I call you, Malfoy?” Potter asked, a small grin lighting up his face. Little did he know that Draco was already prepared with an answer.

“You can call me your roommate, Potter, and when you leave the flat we will be sharing, you can call me your ex-roommate,” Draco said, and just as he was about to walk out of the door and leave, Potter stopped him by grabbing his arm.

“Can you stop leaving like that?” Potter asked, and he sounded slightly aggravated. The smug smile on Draco’s lips dissolved. “Why do you always have to have the last word? Why can’t you just stop being a prat and communicate like a normal person?”

“You know who I am, Potter, and there is nothing normal or un-prat-like about me. I have always been this way.”

Potter sighed and pushed his hand through his hair, ruffling it into a messy tangle, and Draco had the greatest urge to berate Potter for it. But this wasn’t the time or the place, and they weren’t going to start up their childish rivalry from back at Hogwarts. They weren’t.

“Well, I’m not normal either, Draco, and I’m no less of a prat than you are, but I’m trying.” Draco got Potter’s message loud and clear, as if he had spoken it out in front of him. _I’m trying, and so should you._

Draco took a deep breath and nodded his head. “Alright, Potter. What do you want to say to me?”

Potter bit his lip at that and momentarily distracted Draco, who glanced down for a slight second. “Since we’re going to be moving into the same flat, shouldn’t we talk about it? When will we be moving in? How will we move all of our stuff? Are we going to redecorate the house? We’re buying it, right? So should we paint the place?”

Draco let out a breath to relax himself and took a quick look at the time. He didn’t have more than a few minutes to spare. “Meet me at my office after you finish work and take the rest of the day off, Potter. Then we shall be able to properly discuss all of this in detail.”

Potter nodded his head in agreement and Draco took that as an appropriate cue for him to leave. It took him until the time he exited the Ministry building and went to enter his own, freezing at the entrance to the _Daily Prophet_ as he realised that Potter had never asked him exactly where his office was and where he was supposed to meet him.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry stood outside the building, walking from one side to the other, twirling his wand in his hand. He was deep in thought, trying to prepare himself to enter the building he had been standing outside for twenty minutes. He was Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, and a Gryffindor, brave and courageous. He had died once.

He looked down at his feet as he continued to walk, faster and taking longer strides. He spotted a frayed piece of thread on the edge of his robes and pulled at it, opening a small hole in his Auror robes at the seams. As he played with the thread, circling it around his fingers and biting the inside of his lip, he stopped. Pulling the thread out suddenly and completely, he let his lip go and entered the _Daily Prophet_.

At first, nobody noticed him, but soon every eye was on him and he wondered if this was how Draco had felt when he’d walked into the Ministry. Had he also hesitated for that long? Had he been just as nervous to enter into the building as Harry had been just now?

Harry walked over to the lady sitting at the desk in the reception area. “Excuse me. Do you know where I can find Draco Malfoy?”

The lady seemed surprised to say the least, but nodded her head and gave Harry the directions to Malfoy’s office. “It’s on the second floor. First office to the right, you should be able to see his name engraved onto the door.”

“Thank you,” Harry said with a smile and went to follow the directions that he had been given. Sure enough, it led him to Malfoy’s office, and he knocked on the door, reading the engraving that said: ‘Draco Malfoy: Writer of the Celebrities and Events section’.

“Malfoy, it’s me,” he said, getting the urge to play with one of his robes’ open threads again but resisting it.

“Potter,” Malfoy spoke politely as he opened the door to let Harry in, and the way he said it left Harry feeling uncomfortable. They weren’t supposed to be like this, their interactions weren’t supposed to go like this–Malfoy’s and his. They were supposed to be hostile and angry or bantering with a sprinkle of passive aggressive insults or mentions of the past. But most of all, their interactions were supposed to be comfortable; they had always known where they had stood with respect to each other in the past and had navigated their interactions accordingly.

It had been more than three years now though, and Harry was left lost and stumbling, grasping onto what he’d known about Malfoy back at Hogwarts, which, although it could technically fill pages and pages of a notebook, was actually nothing in comparison to what he should know by now. He didn’t actually _know_ Malfoy. Maybe that was the problem, maybe Malfoy felt the same way.

Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped into Malfoy’s office.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry looked around the office and realised that it completely contrasted his idea of what Malfoy’s office would have looked like. “Your office is a mess,” Harry stated, turning to face Malfoy.

Malfoy groaned, leaning against his desk and making at least a dozen folders and stray pieces of paper and parchment alike fall onto the floor and spread all over it. Draco swore under his breath and fell to his knees to pick them all up. Harry found himself doing the same.

“I’ve told them to have somebody come in and clear it up, but no one has shown up yet,” Draco said in response to Harry’s comment.

Harry snorted at that, and Malfoy stopped what he was doing to look over at Harry. “This is your office Malfoy, isn’t it? Nobody else is going to come in here and clear it up. That’s your responsibility now.”

Draco looked so horrified and absolutely terrified at the mere thought of doing what Harry had told him to do that Harry couldn’t help bursting out into a full fit of laughter.

“Potter!” Draco exclaimed, standing up and keeping his folders and stacks of paper and parchment onto his desk. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Harry stood up as well, passing the remaining stacks over to Draco who tried his best to rearrange them on his desk before sighing in resignation and shaking his head.

“I am not, actually,” Harry said and before he could overthink it, went to push Malfoy to the side. “Here, let me,” he said, and now he was being the polite one, making the situation awkward and the silence uncomfortable.

He saw Draco shifting from one foot to the other but paid no attention to him; his mind was already focused on how to tidy up the desk lying in front of him. The rest of the place was just as much of a mess, if not worse, but Harry decided he’d work up to it, _if_ he worked up to it at all.

“Potter, what are you doing?” Malfoy asked him, and Harry paused for a second to just look at him, then turned back to the desk. “Potter, I asked– You can’t just–”

“Will you shut up and let me work, Malfoy? For fuck’s sake,” Harry said as he continued to work on organising Malfoy’s desk.

Fifteen minutes later, it was organised. A half an hour later, his whole office was neat and tidy and Malfoy looked at Harry with his jaw dropped.

“You didn’t even use magic,” he said, and Harry grinned openly and widely at him.

“No, I didn’t. Now can we talk about the flat?” Harry asked, settling down on a chair. Draco sat down in another one near him.

“Yes. Er, thank you, Potter, for helping me out with the mess in my office,” Malfoy said, the unsurety of where he should take the conversation showing on his face.

“It’s not a problem, Malfoy. I just hope that you pay me to do it the next time,” Harry jokingly replied. He saw Malfoy’s shoulders tense and then relax when he looked at Harry’s face. Malfoy had a habit of doing that, of being overly-cautious for absolutely no reason, except maybe there was reason enough after the war.

Harry didn’t know why he longed for the Malfoy who just used to run his mouth during their first few years at Hogwarts. Sure, he’d had nothing useful to say, but he used to say it anyway. Perhaps it wasn’t just Malfoy whose innocence he wished to revive.

“Shut up, Potter,” Malfoy muttered before jutting his chin out. Ah, Harry knew those expressions, and the actions that had followed, quite well. Malfoy was preparing to go into a long-winded monologue in his best posh and prissy accent.

Harry couldn’t say he wasn’t looking forward to it; after all, he quite missed Malfoy’s narcissism, bitter sarcasm, and nasty insults, so this should be a healthy dose of it. Listening to Malfoy’s bitchy tone would probably increase the duration of his life, help his withered imaginary crops and house plants grow, and heal him of his every wound.

“Please, Draco, do speak up and enlighten us all,” Harry said, spreading his hands to include the pieces of paper and parchment surrounding them both.

Malfoy glared at Harry with his deathly glare #57 and it only made Harry respond with a victorious grin of his own. Draco shook his head and then looked up, and Harry could tell that he was ready to deliver his speech. Harry leaned forwards in order to make sure Draco knew that he had his attention, and to get the full true and ultimate experience of being in Malfoy’s presence at that moment. He soaked it up completely.

Malfoy merely looked at Harry as if he had lost his mind and then he spoke. “I took note of all of the questions that you had asked me, Potter, and yes, we are buying the house. As for painting or colouring the walls of the house, I do believe that is included in the decorating. We could decorate the flat with our own budget and give it personal touches if you could hold off moving into the flat for another week or two at the most. It’s also alright if you can’t, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Harry stared at Malfoy as he finished speaking, not being able to form any words of his own. The way Malfoy had worded his plan so politely and thoughtfully, taking into consideration the fact that Harry would be living with him and that Harry would want to be there with him every step of way. Draco had actually asked Harry for his opinion, on everything, and had said that he was alright with Harry making the decisions for him as well, as if _Harry_ would be the one making them on his own.

A sudden warmth and pressure bloomed in his chest, and Harry smiled a genuine, pleasant smile at Draco. He had not been expecting this. “I can’t believe you’ve put so much thought into this.”

“And I cannot believe that you cleaned up my entire office without using a hint of magic, of your own accord, in half an hour,” Malfoy was quick to reply, already on the defensive. Harry’s smile grew, because now they were getting somewhere, now it felt comfortable and so, _so_ like _them_.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and was blessed with receiving Malfoy’s glare #90. He reveled and bathed in the glare for a few moments before he turned serious. “I think that we should decorate and personalise the flat on our own. Also, I don’t know about the decorating, you could suggest someone, but I have an idea of who we can gather the painting supplies from.”

Draco seemed to bite his lip in thought and Harry shook himself when he realised that he was looking at the way that Draco’s teeth ever so gently bit and sunk into his lower lip. He quickly glanced up as Draco cleared his throat. “Are you free from Auror duty on the weekends, Potter?”

“Mostly, yes.” Harry nodded his head.

“Well, then,” Draco said and paused for a moment as if contemplating his decision before he made it. Harry wondered if there had ever been a moment in Malfoy’s adult life when he hadn’t second guessed or overthought his every decision. “Is it okay for you to meet me this Saturday morning?”

“Saturday’s fine for me,” Harry said, standing up. He hesitated, and then added, “I’ll call you if it doesn’t work out though, for some reason.”  

Draco simply nodded his head and stood up himself. “Yes, that is quite alright, Potter.”

They exchanged their phone numbers, the promise of meeting on Saturday going around in a loop inside both their heads as Harry exited Malfoy’s office, closing the door behind him on his way out.

 

* * *

 

 

It had been a week since he’d started working for the _Daily Prophet_ and Draco was surprised at how much he was enjoying his work already. The very first day that he had walked into work, the head of his department had taken one look at him and told Draco that the only reason he was there was because he knew powerful people in higher-up positions. It had been _them_ who had suggested Draco’s recruitment but it was up to _him_ to choose whether Draco stayed or not.

He was going to have to work harder than everyone else to prove his worth. The only reason _he_ had even listened to the orders from the higher ups was because Draco’s interview had been brilliant, just as much, if not more, than his writing. Draco had snorted at that because when had he ever not had to prove himself, and when had he ever not had to work his precious arse off for it?

Since then, his motivation to go to work had only increased, and Draco had spent the whole week preparing to go to the official Winter Gala, which was to be hosted by the Weasleys this year. The Minister of Magic had personally requested it, and the Weasleys had only been too happy to oblige.

Draco could remember in the not-so-distant past when it had been the Malfoys arranging the annual seasonal balls and galas, and he could also remember all the years the rest of his friends’ families had done the same. He had been proudest of his own, though, because the Minister had been so impressed with the way that they had managed the events in the past, that he had repeatedly insisted that they take charge every couple of years.

Despite their previous associations with the Dark Lord, the Malfoys had always been well respected and very well-known. They had been said to give generous donations, to not just the school but also the charities. Their monthly parties had been the kinds of events everyone had discussed and people had looked forward to every single month.

Voldemort coming back to life had ruined all of that. It had ruined not just their family’s reputation and threatened their lives, it had also taken away Draco’s future and stolen any hope that he’d had to carve out a name for himself, and to become richer and more successful than even his own father.

Taking a deep breath, Draco shook himself. None of that mattered anymore. All that mattered was the fact that he had a job that he loved doing. He was going to start with that, and if his position at that moment was considered to be the bottom rung of a ladder, the only way he had to go was up. It was going to take a lot of steps to reach the top, but Draco was going to do it. He was going be successful.

As the door suddenly opened, Draco looked up from a previous Gala newspaper clipping to the lady standing near the door. “Mr Killings would like to see you Mr Malfoy,” she said.

Draco immediately kept the newspaper clipping down to follow her. Mr Killings was the head of his section of the newspaper, and Draco was curious and a little nervous, he had to admit, to meet him again. He wondered what he was going to tell Draco this time. Had Draco’s work been shabby? Had it not been up to the usual _Daily Prophet_ standards? Was he lagging behind on his work? Should he be trying to catch up with the others?

“Mr Malfoy, please come in.” Draco took a deep breath and straightened up his shoulders and posture even more. _Proud and polite. Always act like a Malfoy because you are one, no matter what._

He watched as the lady he’d been following, Mr Killings’ secretary probably, backed away, and he faced the door, taking a pause for a hint of a second before opening it and stepping inside the office.

 

* * *

 

 

It had been a week since he’d started working in the Auror Department of  the Ministry of Magic, and Harry was surprised at how much he was dreading his work already.

“Auror Potter,” one of the Aurors called out to him. Harry forced himself to look away from his current case file to the Auror who had called out to him. “Minister Shacklebolt would like you to meet him in his office in fifteen minutes.”

Harry nodded his head and waited until the door to his office was closed before he sighed and closed his eyes.

Harry was exhausted. He had completely burnt out of energy and adrenaline about halfway through the week. It had been a week filled with working the most intense and grueling cases the Ministry had, and no matter how hard and fast he worked, there was always another important case waiting for him to work on. Harry knew that he should be thankful that he was already being handed such significantly large cases, and was already being complimented for his work, but he wished that he could go slow.

Surely nobody else started off getting as large an amount of workload as Harry seemed to be getting? Ron came a close second, but he seemed to be enjoying it, if the way he kept talking about his cases and his partners was any indication. They hadn’t even had the courtesy to give Harry a partner.

But Harry knew that he should be grateful for everything he’d been given and the choices he’d had to make. After all, he had applied to the Aurors Training program with Ron because that’s what everyone had wanted and expected of him and it made sense. He had destroyed Voldemort, who else would be better to rid the wizarding world of further crimes but him?

Harry got up slowly and shook himself. He had known what he’d been getting into when he’d applied for the training, and he had been ready for it. It wouldn’t do to be pessimistic now. He was barely a week into the job. He should be grateful and thankful. _But I’m not. I’m not._

 

* * *

 

 

Draco gritted his teeth as he walked down the steps of the building. Yes, he _walked_ down the stairs, because he wanted to stomp his feet in anger with each step he took. He almost slipped once or twice he stomped so hard, and the bones in his legs felt like they were cracking and crumbling, with the force of the steps or from heat and anger he did not know.

He had solved the mystery of why his boss was called Killings. It was because he killed everyone’s hopes and dreams. Draco clenched his fists and stomped even harder.

“Mr Draco Malfoy,” he’d said in his nasally voice, “as much as I appreciate your enthusiasm and excitement about the Gala, I’m afraid you won’t be going.” When Draco had asked why, the only response he’d recieved was that they had found someone much more capable than him to do the job.

This, according to Draco, was an utter bunch of Peacock-dump. There was nobody who was more capable than Draco Lucius Malfoy to write about the official Winter Gala. He was the writer of the events and celebrities section, for Merlin’s sake! How could _he_ not go to the Gala? Draco had asked as much.

The response that he had received had been quite straightforward. Killings had looked him in the eyes and said, “You know why. The Weasleys are organizing the event, and this is the first time after the war that we have had a chance to start this tradition again. It would be better if there were no disputes, disruptions or unwanted guests.”

Draco had gritted his teeth. Was he meant to be the _cause_ of such disputes, a mere disruption in their celebration, or perhaps simply an unwanted guest? Maybe he was meant to be all three.

By the time Draco exited the building, he was seething with rage, heaving breaths. All he could see was a haze of red and he knew that he had to take a moment before he did something stupid or spiteful, or both.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and leaned back into a wall.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry wasn’t aware of what he was doing. He wasn’t. Kingsley had just given Harry a high profile case. “It is of the utmost importance,” he’d said, “and who better to give it to than Harry Potter himself.” _Oh, of course! Who better indeed?_

He felt numb and cold inside, like he was shrinking and shriveling up on himself, like he was done. His first week of Auror work was up and Harry was already extremely done, and tired. He was so, so incredibly tired.

Harry was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice that he’d left the building until he spotted a familiar figure leaning against an even more familiar building right across the road from him.

He had frozen on the spot, immediately coming out of his cold, numb shell to feel something as soon as his eyes had fallen upon the figure.

“Malfoy!” He called out, waving a hand with a grin before he even realised what he was doing. He started to cross the distance between the both of them, looking in both the directions for any unknown vehicles or passersby until he reached the other side.

Malfoy had looked up when he had been called and had pushed off of the wall he’d been leaning against to stand by the edge of the footpath and greet him. “Hello, Potter,” he said with a small frown on his face.

“Hey,” Harry said, and as they began to walk, heading in the same direction, Harry nudged him lightly. “Are you not happy to see me?” He asked, teasingly.

Draco seemed to want to huff out a laugh, his lips turning upwards, wanting to grow into a smile, but they reverted back to their frowning state just seconds later.

“Hey.” Harry bumped shoulders with him this time. “Is everything alright?” He was aware of the fact that there seemed to be something serious bothering him.

Draco was usually all head held high, posture straight, taking up as much space around him as possible, with his voice loud and clear and confident, and his gaze holding the other person’s. The intensity of it increased when he was feeling sad or upset.

So he had to be blazing red hot to not even look Harry in the eyes, for his posture to be so tensed instead of the fake relaxed, his face to be tightened instead of the fake calm, and he knew the eyes were turned away because they would reveal his emotions almost immediately. He knew that it had to be bad for Draco to barely be controlling his anger, to be frowning in a way that kept his mouth shut. He could feel the sparks.

Harry couldn’t explain why he felt the sudden need to lift the barrier that lay between him and Draco’s anger, to allow Draco to let it loose, to let him unleash it all on Harry.

“No,” Draco said, letting out a ragged breath. Harry blinked at the honesty. He hadn’t been expecting it, but on second thought, he probably should have. There had rarely ever been a time when Malfoy had lied to him. He hadn’t needed to.

“Yeah, I can relate to that,” Harry admitted, letting his expressions turn serious. He wasn’t close enough with Malfoy yet to do the whole comforting thing, but he could be just slightly vulnerable with him.

He saw the surprise on Draco’s face, and the eye contact they were sharing made him feel a sense of victory from within.

“What happened with you?” Draco asked, and Harry could see it in his eyes, the curiosity. Harry knew he had him.

“I’ll tell if you will,” he replied.

Draco took a moment of pause before he nodded his head. _Success!_ Harry’s inner voice screamed, and Harry internally screamed along with it.

“I was supposed to be going to the official Winter Gala that is being organized by the Weasleys this year,” Draco started off saying, and Harry nodded his head. He knew all about that Gala. The Weasleys had all sat him down and told him about how important they were for the solidarity and unity of all of the wizards currently living in Britain.

Ron had hugged Harry so hard he’d almost cracked Harry’s ribs when he had found out that they were going to be organizing the event. They had all been trying to help as much as possible, although it had been Arthur, Molly, Bill, and Charlie who had been leading with it.

Harry and Hermione had been extremely satisfied to just stand back and watch, letting the comparatively adult members of the family do most of the work. Ron, however, had been just as enthusiastic as the rest of the Weasleys to put in his all, and Harry had seen Hermione melt a little, a fluttery smile showing on her lips as she had looked at him, which had resulted in a fond smile growing on Harry’s own lips as he’d looked between the both of them.

He’d ignored the feelings that had flared up inside of him, like something was missing, like there was a piece of the puzzle that was his life, just waiting to be searched for so that it could be found. He had Ginny, and he would soon have a family. He would have a wife and two children and they would be the kind of loving and happy family he’d always dreamed of having.

He would be happy, wouldn’t he? Then why did he feel like there was a huge gaping hole in his heart where all of that joyfulness, happiness, and love should be?

Harry blinked and found himself looking into Draco’s grey, intriguing eyes. He retraced the conversation that they’d been having which was what made him realise why Draco had stopped talking, as if hoping for Harry to have caught onto something.

“You said you were _supposed to_ be going to the Winter Gala,” Harry slowly pointed out, hoping it didn’t mean what he thought it meant. But then Draco’s expressions changed and Harry was sure it meant exactly that.

“Killings said I couldn’t go because they had found someone much more capable in that field than I am,” Draco said in a neutral tone.

Harry found himself getting angrier on Draco’s behalf. “That’s bullshit!” he exclaimed, and Draco looked at Harry with his eyes slightly wide. Harry hadn’t even realised that Draco had looked away from him. He had only been thinking of the injustice that had been done to Malfoy. “It’s absolute Hippogriff-dump. They couldn’t find anyone more capable than you if they tried. You’re a Malfoy, you have more experience and expertise in that field than anybody else in the _Daily Prophet_ could ever even hope to achieve. You write for the celebrities and events section, why would they not send you?”

Draco didn’t speak for a long moment, choosing to just stare at Harry with that look in his eyes that made Harry feel all dry and itchy in a way he couldn’t explain and in places he didn’t want to contemplate right then. Harry swallowed the bile that rose up his throat and thought about how he’d dealt with that feeling in the past to help him scratch the itch and to rid himself of that internal dryness.

He swallowed again.

“That,” Draco said, when he finally spoke up, “was what I asked Killings, and he said that I was not welcome to the Gala as I would only be causing disputes or disruptions and would most probably be an unwanted guest to the celebration.”

“Wait, he actually said that?” Harry asked in shock. When Draco nodded his head, Harry’s expressions hardened. “Maybe I should have a word with your boss. You said his name was Killings, right?”

“Potter, you will do no such thing,” Draco lightly said. Harry blinked. Draco’s voice was lighter and softer than Harry had ever heard it before, and Harry could imagine it floating in the air, wafting ever-so-gently in a warm summer breeze, like a feather. “Potter!” Draco snapped his fingers in front of Harry’s face, making Harry scowl childishly at him. “Did you hear me?”

“Why not?” Harry asked. Why wasn’t Draco as angry about it as he should be? Why was he being so lenient and calm all of a sudden? He didn’t used to be like this, he shouldn’t be like this.

Harry started to feel all dry and itchy again, a bit of irritation joining in from the abundant amount he had stored inside of him. It lay right next to his unlimited storage of rage which was openly accessible at all times, or maybe just when Malfoy was around.

“I am not a charity case, Potter, I refuse to be. I don’t need your help, certainly not with Killings, and most definitely not with anything else either. I have been handling things just fine for the past two years, and I would like for it to remain as such,” Draco stated, with an air of finality.

Just like that, Harry began to re-think his plan to be roommates with Draco Malfoy. They had barely begun walking towards an unknown destination, and he was already getting the urge to knock some sense into the prat. “You’re a stubborn git and an arsehole, Malfoy.”

He saw Malfoy chance a smile at that. “Likewise, Potter.”

“So, what's bothering you, Potter?” Draco asked after an appropriate amount of silence had passed. “Is your frustration also work related?”

Harry sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. Just as he was about to speak, he felt Draco's hand suddenly pulling Harry's out of his hair.

“Stop it,” Draco told him, and it wasn't like he was snapping at Harry irritatedly or anything close to that. He was simply _telling_ Harry not to do something.

Harry was so shocked by Draco's intervention that he let his hand drop and stared at him. Draco’s hand lingered close to Harry's for a few moments, and Harry pretended not to notice. He also pretended like he wasn't trying to let the contact stay for a bit longer.

Draco's hand went away though, as he cleared his throat. “You always do that when you're nervous, Potter. It's a bad habit and you really should stop doing it as it only worsens the condition of your already bad hair.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, his throat feeling incredibly dry all of a sudden. Draco just nodded his head, and then they were drowned in silence again. That was, until Harry realised that he’d been asked a question before.

“You’re right,” he said, and Draco gave him a side glance. Harry hurriedly tried to explain, “My frustration _is_ work-related.” Harry’s hand lifted, but then froze halfway to his hair and quickly dropped. “You’re also right about my hair. It’s a bad habit.”

Harry was stunned speechless for a moment as Draco’s lips formed a sly smile and showed him a flash of his teeth. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d admit to me being right, Potter.”

“Me neither,” Harry croaked out. They had been walking for awhile, and Harry had expected to continue for quite some time, so he was taken by surprise when they actually reached a destination.

He turned to look at Draco with an amused grin, which made Draco say, “Don’t judge me, Potter.”

Harry did anyway.

“Starbucks, Malfoy? I didn’t know you were that fond of coffee. You always had that weirdly, expensive tea with the teabags stuck in them back at Hogwarts, and you used to….” Harry made a motion of dipping tea bags into a cup, “...yeah.”

Draco rolled his eyes at the gesture and said, “I’ve learnt that not all places serve tea as good as they did at Hogwarts. Some of them aren’t even branded.” Draco took a pause and made a disgusted face before continuing. “With coffee, however, it is different. They are all well-made and taste almost the same everywhere.”

“I’ve got to agree with you there,” Harry replied.

This time, the smile that graced Draco’s lips was genuine. “You just agreed with me again, Potter. I suspect you might be growing a little soft on me.”

Harry scoffed at that, pretending like he wasn’t feeling blinded by Draco’s smile, and maybe a little dizzy. Maybe it was just the thought of drinking some decent coffee that was making him feel a sense of euphoria. “I’m not growing soft on you, Malfoy. I’m just trying to be civil because we’re going to be roommates.”

Harry was certain that Malfoy hadn’t bought his excuse, but he stayed silent, choosing not to call Harry out. Maybe this was Malfoy’s way of staying civil.

As Draco went to push the door open, Harry quickly grabbed at Draco’s arm.

“Wait,” Harry said, and made his way to a nearby alleyway. He made sure that there was no one around and then took his wand out. He noticed the confused expression on Draco’s face and smirked, whispering the spell under his breath.

Draco blinked and stepped back, and Harry knew that his spell had worked. It was a modification of the glamour spell, where only true wizards and witches could see past the spell, if they tried to. To a regular Muggle, Harry would seem to be wearing a maroon sweater on top of his white collared shirt instead of his Auror robes. “Alright, I’m done. Let’s go.”

As Harry stepped inside Starbucks and let the door close behind him, he noticed a mix of emotions in Draco’s eyes. “That was quite a strong spell, Potter, and a modified glamour at that–not bad. Even so, you could have tried spelling better clothes on. That maroon sweater makes you look about twenty years older than you are,” Draco said, squinting at Harry.

_Not being civil then. Still an arsehole._

As they both waited in line for coffee, Malfoy nudged Harry’s arm. “Tell me what’s bothering you, Potter,” he said in the quietest and softest tone Harry had ever heard from him.

“It’s Shacklebolt,” Harry said, looking forward. He could tell that Draco was facing him and listening to him. “First he started off by not assigning me a partner since I’m Harry fucking Potter and he was sure that I could handle things on my own. Besides, he said there were no partners available for me. Then, he, from the very first day, gave me the most complicated and difficult cases because they were important and again, I’m Harry fucking Potter!”

He finished his rant by throwing his hands up in exclamation as well as a sign of defeat. “It’s been barely a week, Draco, and I’m already so sick of it. By my third day of work, I was struggling and tired and so, so exhausted. I know I should be more grateful, and I know Ron’s getting almost the same workload, but he’s got a partner and– and it’s not the same thing.”

They had to turn their attention to the counter as they reached the front of the line and ordered. Harry had the first thing he could see on the menu, a latte, whilst Draco ordered a simple cappuccino, to Harry’s immense surprise.

As they both went to sit down in a back corner, Draco spoke up. “I don’t think you should be comparing yourself to Weasley, Potter. He’s probably not getting as special a treatment as you are.” Draco had maintained eye contact with Harry all the while, but he leaned forwards now. “Have you tried speaking to Shacklebolt about this? I’m sure he’d understand your reasons if you decided to start off taking small cases and built up to working on the more difficult and important ones later. It would surely be too much to expect even the great Harry Potter to dive head first into a life of fighting crime immediately after training and not that long after the war itself?”

“Stop that,” Harry half-heartedly muttered, breaking eye contact to look down at the table. He went to push his hand through his hair, and didn’t stop the action this time. Draco didn’t stop him either. “You know I don’t like it when people say it like that.” _You know I don’t like it when you say it like that._

“Potter,” Draco said, and Harry’s heart fluttered as Draco’s hand landed on top of his own. It felt warm and solid, and Harry felt safe and grounded. “You have been through a lot. We all have. Nobody expects you to be okay and to do something extraordinary after the war. You have to stop putting so much pressure on yourself to be alright. You are not alright. None of us are.”

Harry glanced up and met Draco’s eyes. “None of us?” He asked, but his real question was, are you alright, Draco, or are you suffering like the rest of us? He didn’t want him to be suffering. They had been through a lot. _Draco_ had been through a lot.

Draco cracked a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Do I look alright to you, Potter?”

Harry swallowed his words as his gaze fell to Draco’s body, raking it down from his head to toe. He forcefully drew his eyes back to Draco’s when he realised that he’d just been checking Draco out, and he looked _fine_ to Harry. _Very fine, indeed._

Draco was wearing his usual white collared shirt and black trousers, minus his robes, as he seemed to do these days, and Harry could tell that Draco, even through his lean form, was hiding quite a bit of muscle in there. Draco had even, sometime during their walk, loosened his tie a little and undone one of his top buttons.

It had exposed his neck and had made a V-shape just beneath it. Harry somehow just couldn’t stop staring at it and pulling at his own collar as he felt hot all over.

Draco was still staring at Harry, but he had probably taken Harry’s silence the wrong way, because he had begun to withdraw his hand from Harry’s. Before Harry could even think about it, he’d already reached out to pull it back in, putting both his hands on top of Draco’s one.

Draco’s eyes widened slightly at that, a soft reddish tinge showing on his cheeks accompanied by a slight frown, which made Harry scramble to give him a response. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting, I was just thinking. Yes, you do look healthy, a lot more than you did at your trials three years ago, but you aren’t, are you?”

The last time they had seen each other before they had met again after three years had been at the trials. Harry’d had to leave for his Auror’s Training directly after that and Draco….

Why did Harry want him to be happy so badly?

Just as Harry’s mind tried to find an appropriate answer to the question, their names were called out. Both Harry and Draco stood up, letting each other’s hands go, and Harry resisted the urge to look at Draco. He failed, glancing at Draco from the bottom up this time, and he shuddered a little as he looked away. He couldn’t explain the way he felt, couldn’t explain why he felt that way, and couldn’t even explain why his eyes had lingered on Draco’s arse and his lips, his face and his body, for so long.

He felt quite overdressed in his Auror robes and uniform, not that any Muggles would notice, as they walked over to the counter to get their respective coffees. It was only once they’d settled back into their seats, and Harry had tried to rid his mind of the image of Malfoy, that Malfoy spoke again.

“I don’t think anyone wants me to be, Potter,” Draco replied, and he saw Potter trying to process his words. “Nobody wants an ex-Death Eater walking about freely and being _happy_ and _alright_ , while they are still suffering and in pain because of what happened during the war.”

Potter seemed to want to say something, opening and closing his mouth several times, not that Draco was paying any particular attention to that mouth, or those lips. He took those moments to take a sip of his cappuccino, letting the hot liquid pour down his throat and slowly begin to warm him from the inside out. He sighed and relaxed, shifting to a comfortable sitting position. Potter was still struggling, looking like a fish that had been dragged out of the water, and Draco couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying Potter’s current state.

He dragged his eyes over Potter’s Auror robes. Potter hadn’t been wearing them when Draco had gone over to his office a few days ago, and he had been too busy to notice if he had when they’d met in Draco’s office later on that day. He’d seen Potter wearing the Auror uniform though, which although a bit different, was quite similar to, and reminded Draco a lot of, their Hogwarts uniform.

The robes seemed to perfectly fit Potter, accentuating his muscles and thighs, and lending him an authentic look due to the high quality of the material that the robes were made out of. Draco didn’t want to admit that enjoying Potter’s current state also meant that he was enjoying the view, but as his eyes found Potter’s lips again after sweeping another glance over Potter’s body, he had to admit to himself that maybe he was.

He also had to admit that the spell Potter had cast, the modified glamour charm, had been quite impressive. Draco could easily see the dorkish looking sweater Potter seemed to be wearing, everytime he squinted. The sweater was an imperfect fit on Potter–a little too loose, a bit too short–but it was so incredibly Potter, that Draco found a smile growing at the edge of his lips despite himself.

He took a second sip of his coffee when his eyes fell on the cup that Potter’s latte had been served in, with a heart shape and some decently made design on top of it. Draco had been given the standard Starbucks plastic mug with the logo as usual, but Potter….

Draco smirked and decided to take pity on Potter by changing the subject. “Nice latte art, don’t you think Potter?”

Potter’s brows furrowed slightly until he looked down and pursed his lips. Draco was immensely pleased to watch a shy blush creeping up Potter’s cheeks. “It’s not too bad.”

“I wasn’t aware that you were this fond of lattes, Potter. Do you and She-Weasley usually share one?” Draco enquired, doing his best to tamp down on the widening of his smirk into a grin.

“What? No!” Potter spluttered out, cheeks shading darker and the colour spreading to the rest of his face. “Ginny and I never–”

“You never what?” Draco asked as he took a third sip of his coffee, then looked down and downed a fourth. He glanced up at Potter over the top of his mug.

“I– um– we never really went out on a proper date as such,” Potter said, and there his hands were, not in his hair, but playing with his frayed robes this time.

Draco almost burned his tongue as the tip of it touched the scalding hot coffee. He coughed, and rasped out a, “What?”

“It’s just– after the war and the trials, I immediately had to go for my training and she had school and then her Quidditch practices. We met whenever we had the time to, but we spent most of that time catching up on each other’s lives because both our training sessions were so rigorous.” Potter stopped speaking and Draco realised he’d been gaping open-mouthed at him.

They had barely even had time to talk since the battle, and now Potter was set to marry the girl he hadn’t even gone on an actual date with? “Potter, you do know that you just asked her to marry you, right? You’ve never even gone out on a date with her, and yet the first thing you did after you completed your training and went home was propose to her.”

“We’ve known each other for a while, and I’ve been friends with her for almost as long as I’ve been friends with Ron and Hermione. Besides, she’s family and she means a lot to me, I think it was about time I asked her to marry me.” Potter shrugged as if what he’d said had actually made _perfect_ sense, when in fact, he couldn’t be more wrong.

Just when Draco had thought that he had already been baffled enough, he was hit with Potter’s utter stupidity and nonsensical views on marriage. He found it funny how all this while, he’d been berating _his_ pure-blooded ancestors for _their_ traditional thoughts.

Draco sipped at his coffee again.

Potter had picked up his cup, after having stared at the artwork on his coffee for several minutes, and had finally begun taking tentative sips of it. Draco tried not to stare too much as Potter blew away the hot steam rising up from the edge of the cup and the slight slurping noise Potter made when he drank the coffee.

He could feel the heat rounding up on his cheeks as Potter looked up from his latte and caught Draco’s eyes. He did his best to hold the eye contact, but eventually had to look away. His eyes landed back on his cappuccino. It wasn’t even half finished and Draco knew that he shouldn’t be but he was glad. Potter had barely just started drinking his own coffee.

“You know–” Potter started to say.

It was at the same time that Draco said, “Potter–”

They both looked at each other, flushed completely red. “You go first,” Potter said. Draco nodded his head, sipped at his coffee, and went first.

“You do realise that all of the reasons you’ve given me about why you’re marrying She-Weasley make no sense, right? You sound like you’ve decided to marry her more out of convenience than anything else, because it seems easy and is natural, which is not necessarily a good thing,” Draco explained. He could feel the coffee burning hot in his hand, begging him to take another sip. He resisted the urge and kept his gaze on Potter’s face.

He saw the exact moment his words sank in, and the next moment when a look of determination crossed Potter’s face, indirectly telling Draco that Potter had made-up his mind about whether to agree or disagree with him. Draco also knew which one of the options Potter was going to choose, but he gave Potter the opportunity to speak.

“Why is that such a bad thing?” Potter asked. “Why is it so bad to want to marry someone you’ve known for so long and feel so, so comfortable with? Maybe I _want_ to spend the rest of my life with someone like her, maybe I want to start a family and have kids with her. What’s so wrong with that, Draco? Tell me, because I really don’t know.”

Potter’s eyes were a vivid, forest green, his face even more expressive than his eyes. Draco wondered why Potter ever felt the need to use words to convey what he meant when his face told the other person everything he wanted to say without even saying it.

Draco drank a bit of his cappuccino. He let Potter take a swallow of his latte before responding. “It is a bad thing, Potter, because you have not once given the right reason to marry her. You have not once told me that you’re in love with her. Is this a decision that you’re taking because it’s what other people want from you or because it’s what you want? I think I might be inclined to say that you are being pressured into the former, much like you are at work.”

The cup in Potter’s hand shook and he swallowed, his eyes meeting Draco’s. They were the green of the murky waters of a lake or a river this time.

“You’re wrong,” Potter’s voice came out husky and croaky. He cleared his throat. “You’re wrong,” he said with more gusto this time. “I do…I do love her.” Potter’s eyes hardened and they were a forest green again. “I love Ginny, and I’m doing this because I want to be with her.”

“It took you long enough to say the words, Potter,” Draco tried to make his voice sound casual as it came out, “but have you ever said them out loud to her?”

“She…she knows,” Potter said, although he looked unsure and quite confused about his statement.

“Does she? And are you doing this because you want her or you need her? Is this some sort of a–”

“Stop,” Potter said, and Draco halted for a second. Potter sounded quite unlike himself, scarily so, though Draco wasn’t scared. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Draco only listened to Potter because he could see past the demeanor, the temporary coldness and numbness that Potter put on as a front. He could see the brokenness behind it and the denial, and he knew that there were things Potter wasn’t ready to admit to himself yet. Perhaps there was something more that he was keeping, not just from Draco or everyone else that he knew, but from himself too.

Draco simply sipped at his coffee and nodded his head. “Alright, Potter, now tell me what you were going to say.”

It took Harry a few seconds to properly compose himself, and even longer to stop himself from staring at Draco as he drank his coffee. Every time Draco took a sip, his lips would wet slightly and he’d either lick them or dab them with a tissue. Harry didn’t know which was worse, and the worst was how, when Draco swallowed his coffee Harry’s eyes went to the way his Adam’s apple moved. He would find himself licking his lips at that and drinking his latte, not giving a fuck about the art drawn over it, just wanting to sooth his increasingly dry throat.

He took a deep breath and did _not_ imagine Draco drinking his coffee as he said, “I wanted to tell you that you were wrong, about what you said earlier.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and brought his coffee to his lips. Harry wanted to push that fucking cappuccino away from Malfoy and let it spill all over him, mostly so Draco could feel at least a small percentage of the sudden burn that Harry felt every time Draco brought his coffee mug anywhere near his face. He wanted to take revenge on Draco for making Harry feel so out of his depth.

He remembered that he’d been asked to speak and took a quick swallow of the latte, wincing as it burned his tongue and his throat, before talking. “Nobody wants you to be miserable, Draco. Not me, not Ron, or Hermione or Neville or anybody else who knew you back in school. Nobody wants you to be sad and suffering. They’re all just angry. The war got over more than three years ago, and although it isn’t enough time to forget, I’m hoping that maybe people have started to forgive one another.”

“You are far too optimistic for your own good, Potter,” Draco said before looking down at his cappuccino. Harry was surprised at how much of it was still left in the mug–it was almost halfway full. His own latte looked like it had barely even been touched.

Harry took a large gulp of his coffee and then proceeded to disagree with Draco.

“I’m not. I don’t think anyone blames you as much as you seem to be blaming yourself. Isn’t that why you’re silently making yourself listen to Killings and letting him decide how your career shapes up and where it takes you?” Harry asked. He saw Draco’s hand tightening around his mug.

He continued to talk. “Isn’t that why you let yourself settle for less? You used to want to work in the Ministry, didn’t you? You wanted to make and provide Potions for St. Mungo’s. What happened to those dreams, Draco? Did you just decide to–?”

Harry startled as Draco’s cappuccino spilled all over him, his hand squeezing the plastic mug completely through the middle. As Harry looked up into Draco’s eyes, which resembled a stormy sky–complete with thunder and lightning–he was sure they burned brighter than the coffee did on Draco’s skin.

“Fuck!” Harry stood up immediately. “Let me–”

“There’s no need, Potter,” Draco replied. He hadn’t so much as flinched when the coffee had spilled on him and he still didn’t seem to be in any pain as he got up from his seat. “I was just leaving.”

Harry found himself wanting to stop Draco when he began to walk away, and before he could help himself, caught up with Draco and held his arm. He felt Draco tensing up entirely as he turned around to face Harry.

His lips were pursed in a thin line, his jaw clenched along with his hands which were now in fists. Harry knew he couldn’t let Draco open his mouth, so he spoke before Draco did. “I’m sorry. I was out of line. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Malfoy blinked in response and then exhaled shakily. “Yes, you shouldn’t have,” he agreed. Harry looked at him as he loosened his grip, not sure about where they stood anymore, until Draco said, “I’m sorry, too, for saying all of those things about you and She-Weasley. You deserve to be in a relationship without anybody else over-analysing it.”

Harry let go of Draco’s arm completely as he nodded. “Do you want to go outside and get cleaned up?”

Draco didn’t reply, instead he walked over to the door, making Harry follow him, and held it open for him. Harry cautiously walked through it and heard Draco behind him. “There is a place where we can freely use magic not far from here.”

“Are you sure you’re okay to walk all the way there still wearing those coffee stains?” Harry asked. He had to fight a smile and desperately hope that his lips twitching wouldn’t give him away.

The narrowing of Draco’s eyes told Harry that they had given him away. Ah, they betrayed him again. “I think I’m fine, Potter.” Harry resisted the urge to ask Draco if he was still mad or angry at him and tried to tease him again.

“I think it looks quite fashionable,” Harry said, and he took a good look at Draco’s shirt. It had a distinct brown stain on the shoulder and another one at the side of Draco’s stomach. Then there were Draco’s trousers. Harry burst out into peals of laughter as soon as his eyes fell on the huge stain at Draco’s crotch area. “It looks like you pissed your pants,” he said.

Draco’s face turned a tomato red. “Shut up, Potter,” he muttered and broke into a fast half walk and half jog. Harry had to fully jog to keep up with him.

“No, really.” Harry refused to give up. “That’s Muggle fashion for you these days–looking like you’ve pissed your pants and painted brown coffee stains on your shirt, almost as if you’ve spilled a cappuccino on them.”

“I said _shut up_ , Potter.”

Harry smirked at that. Draco’s face looked more like a beetroot than a tomato now, and Harry wondered if he could make Draco’s cheeks colour a different shade of vegetable. Perhaps a fruit wouldn’t be too far off either.

Cherry red, Harry decided.

“I think it makes you seem quite attractive, Draco. Very, _very_ handsome.” Harry struggled not to laugh, but bits of his laughter escaped in between the words.

Draco suddenly stopped walking, making Harry bump straight into his back. He reined in his desire to poke at it and stepped back casually.

As Draco began to face him, Harry asked, “What happened?” A blush was starting to form on his own cheeks as he realised what he’d said to Draco.

“We’re here,” Draco said. It took Harry a second to notice where here was, and another to see the wand in Draco’s hand and feel the sting of a quick spell used on him.

“Ouch! Malfoy, what the–” Harry rubbed at the side of his arm to soothe the slight stinging sensation and glared at the amused expression on Draco’s face.

“That was for being a right prat to me, Potter,” Draco said, before turning his back to Harry to use a cleaning charm on himself. Harry heard him using a soothing charm too, probably for the burns that the hot coffee had left on his skin. As soon as he was done, Draco leaned against a wall and relaxed himself.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry did the same, leaning against the opposite wall. Silence followed and filled up the gap in between them.

Then Draco broke it. “Two and a half years, Potter. For two and a half years, I tried everything. I did my best to make up for my mistakes during the war and before that too. But people refused to accept that I had learned from my mistakes, that I had realised that I was wrong and was trying to change. They would not let me. Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I would ever dare to settle for anything less than what I deserve? Perhaps in this case, though, I do deserve–”

“No, you don’t,” Harry cut in, firmly but quietly. “You don’t deserve to be treated this way, Draco. I’m really sorry for assuming that you wanted this, that’s not what I meant.”

“I know, Potter. I’m just trying to make you understand. You were training with the Aurors, which means that you are probably not aware of what happened during the time of your absence.”

Harry nodded his head and swallowed his words. He could see the effect that they’d had on Draco and realised that maybe it wasn’t as easy to leave behind your past for someone who was constantly being forced to face it and was continually haunted by it. He knew what that felt like.

He also knew that Draco was wrong about something else. Harry _was_ aware of everything that had happened during his supposed absence, especially if it had had something to do with Malfoy.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Harry asked. It was Saturday the next day.

“Yes, you will,” Draco said, meeting Harry’s eyes one last time before he Disapparated.

Harry stared after him, and thought about his half full latte which was still sitting on their table at Starbucks. He had the quick urge to go back and finish it, but he shook that thought out of his head, and followed Draco’s lead as he Apparated back to the Burrow.

 

* * *

 

 

They met the next day morning outside their future flat. Charlotte was already waiting for them, expecting them due to a message from Harry. She held out the keys to them–two keys, one for each, of course. “Here’s a third incase either of you lose your first,” she said before wishing them luck and leaving.

They both glanced down at the third key which was now kept in the palm of Draco’s hand. He frowned a little as he said, “Now I feel slightly guiltier for terrifying her before.” Harry was just satisfied that he got to tell Malfoy ‘I told you so’.

They took another walk around the flat, deciding which room belonged to whom and to have another look through the place so that they could notice anything they might’ve missed before. They had decided on it a few days ago but they again confirmed the fact that it they would arrive at Diagon Alley to first talk to the interior decorator Malfoy knew, and then to gather the painting supplies as Harry had insisted on doing.

He had also insisted that they reach Diagon Alley first and then plan on where to go, but Draco had wanted to plan before they acted. Harry had internally sighed and rolled his eyes heavenwards at that. _Slytherins_.

They had finally reached Diagon Alley, and Malfoy had immediately begun that fast half walk half jog, which had prompted Harry to fully jog to want to keep up with him again. How Draco walked quickly enough that Harry, a trained Auror, couldn’t keep up with him, was a mystery Harry didn’t know how to solve. He also refused to admit that he was breathing quite heavily by the time they stopped in front of Draco’s shop.

The shop seemed quite exquisite from the outside. You only had to look at it once to know that whatever it sold would be very expensive. It might’ve caught Harry’s eye in the past, but Harry had never looked at it twice, choosing to go to simpler shops and ones that seemed much friendlier and homely.

Malfoy took off his robes as they walked into the shop, and so did Harry. He was tense as he walked in, unsure of how his presence would be taken, Malfoy’s too now, but once he did, he was more in awe. The inside of the shop was huge and filled with various ornaments and different styles of wallpapers–moving and immobile–as well as interior decorations like false ceilings.

To say that Harry was very impressed would be an understatement. He was overwhelmed, and even more so when the owner of the shop, an older looking man who was dressed in immaculate clothing and very richly decorated robes, greeted Malfoy like a son.

He did not so much as bat an eyelash at Harry as he hugged Draco, and Draco hugged him back with a warm smile on his face. Harry had to take a minute to let the sight of it sink in. Just as he had, though, the owner’s attention focused on him.

“Mr Potter, may I ask what brings you to this fair establishment?”

Malfoy answered before Harry could even think of a response. “He’s here with me. I actually came here to ask for a favour from you.”

The shop owner’s eyes lit up with interest at that as he ushered them inside, urging them to follow him. He walked into the shop, taking them through a narrow space, deeper and deeper into the shop. Harry was met with the sight of more expensive, antique and beautifully made pieces, until they reached what had to be Mr Fillianders’ office.

Harry and Draco each sat down in a chair, waiting for Mr Fillianders to sit down in one as well.

“Tell me, gentlemen,” Mr Fillianders said. “How may I help you?”

Draco leaned in, a thoughtful look in his eyes, and Harry got comfortable in his chair, knowing that the speaking part was going to be taken care of.

“Do you remember how you helped us redecorate the Manor two years ago, Mr Fillianders?” Draco asked. At a nod of the owner’s head, Draco continued, “Potter and I happened to have bought a house that is desperately in need of your help. I know that Mother and Father were both quite impressed with your work with the Manor, and I hope that you might do our flat the same justice.”

Harry only had to glance over at Mr Fillianders to know that he was hooked. “Very well,” Mr Fillianders started off before he began to ask them all of the details required of the flat.

After having sorted everything out, including the payments–Mr Fillianders had promised to personally come take a look at their flat the next day–they were off to get the painting supplies. Harry grinned. He couldn’t wait to see Malfoy’s reaction when he realised who owned the painting supplies shop.

 

* * *

 

 

Potter was a strange person, and Draco was only more convinced of this fact when he turned to look at him. They were headed towards Potter’s painting supplies shop and Potter was clearly trying to hide a smug smile which shown on his face anyway.

Draco was not really keen on entering into the maddening maze that was Potter’s mind, so he didn’t ask any questions. He realised he should have because he froze in shock as he reached the shop, Potter right next to him. Draco entered it, his robes held in his hands.

“Hello, Luna, Nev,” Potter greeted his friends warmly. They both looked up and brightened up as soon as they spotted Potter. Draco felt like disappearing off of the face of the Earth.

As they looked over at him, Longbottom’s smile fizzled out and Luna’s turned softer and smaller.

“Is that Malfoy?” Longbottom stage whispered to Potter. Draco did _not_ roll his eyes at that.

Luna seemed to have left Potter and Longbottom to their own devices as she approached Draco. “Hello, Draco,” she greeted him. “It’s so nice to see you here,” she said. It seemed as if she meant it.

He couldn’t help but smile at her. He just couldn’t. “Hi, Luna. It is nice to see you, too,” Draco offered, politely. He didn’t know what else to say.

She did. “Does this mean that you and Harry are friends now? Have you agreed to become roommates? Are you buying that flat then?” Luna asked.

Draco looked at Potter with raised eyebrows. How did Luna even know about all those things? The embarrassment that shown on Potter’s face all of a sudden was a good enough answer in itself.

“I asked for her opinion,” Potter spoke from halfway across the room, “about sharing the flat with you and whether it was a good idea. She said it was.” Potter ended with a shrug before busying himself in talking to Longbottom and Lovegood, whom Potter had almost dragged back over to him.

Draco was more than happy to be an observer in this case, and to let Potter handle the gathering of the painting supplies. They had both reached an agreement of spending an equal amount on the interior decorations and changes that were going to be made to their flat, as well as the paint job that Longbottom and Luna were going to be doing.

Their shop was vibrant and colourful from the outside as well as the inside. Splashes of colours, as if paint had been angrily thrown onto the shop, could be seen from the outside. On the inside, those colours seemed to run into each other, mixing to make different ones altogether wherever they did. Draco supposed he could appreciate the thought, the effort and the magic that had gone into it all.

There were shelves filled with different brands and colours of paints, and supplies that Draco had never even thought to relate to painting hanging besides them. He was so completely lost in his observation and thoughts about the painting supplies that he didn’t even notice when Potter came to stand next to him holding a bag in each hand.

“Come on,” Potter said and elbowed Draco, making him startle. Draco turned to Potter, slightly wide-eyed and tried to make sense of things as he looked at Potter’s grin. “Let’s go back to our flat.”

That was how Draco found himself _back at their flat_ holding what looked like a rolling pin, whilst Potter dipped his own in a bucket of paint _which he had bought from Luna and Longbottom’s shop_ and looked at the blank wall in front of them with excitement. A blank canvas, Potter had called it, and we can paint it however we like. Draco wished he could tip that paint bucket all over Potter’s head or just drown himself in it _permanently._

“Stop being so overdramatic, Malfoy, and get started,” Potter said. Oh, but Potter hadn’t seen anything yet. Draco hadn’t even _said_ anything, he hadn’t even _begun_ to show the _several layers_ or the _intense depth_ to his overdramatic-ness. He hadn’t even–

Potter dragged him by the arm and manhandled him, gripping the handle of the _paint roller_ and dipping it in paint. Draco was so, very close to snapping at Potter that he could feel every internal vein popping under the strain of _not_ making it happen. At least, not yet.

So he pushed the roller, which was coloured a dark navy blue, up and down the wall, his eyes following the motion. Then he dipped it again and went to paint it _higher_. As he turned to look at Potter, he snickered as he realised that he could reach parts of the wall that Potter _couldn’t_. He was _taller_ than Potter.

Draco did what any nice, responsible wizard would do when faced with that kind of a situation. He walked over to Potter, pausing to bend a little sideways and expertly dip his roller into the paint, and said, “Here, let me, Potter.”

Then he proceeded to reach the part of the wall that Potter couldn’t, and painted it, watching as a few drops accidentally fell on Potter’s head. Not that Draco stopped or prevented it from happening.

Potter’s glare on him made him feel lively, and he had to admit that painting with the use of paint rollers was a soothing exercise, one that left him feeling quite satisfied. Another drop of paint managed to fall straight onto Potter’s forehead and slid down his face.

Draco stopped and stepped back to take a shaky breath.

“Malfoy,” Harry muttered through gritted teeth. Draco laughed. He let the roller fall down to his side as he doubled over laughing, clutching at his stomach. He fell down next to the roller, and, just like it had, _rolled_ over with laughter.

The splattering noise that the paint had made when it had fallen onto Potter’s forehead and the way Potter’s hair looked _so_ ridiculous with smatterings of blue on them, had tears coming out of Draco’s eyes. It took him until the time his laughter had comparatively decreased to realise that Potter was smiling and chuckling with him.

Draco flushed because his eyes refused to leave Potter’s face, and he quickly sobered up, taking in the bright green eyes, the wide smile, the sound of his chuckle, and the dimples. Potter had dimples that shown when he smiled. _Great._

Draco huffed out a breath and murmured something that was incomprehensible even to his own two ears and his mind.

“You’re unbelievable, Malfoy,” Potter exasperatedly stated.

“You are quite right, Potter,” Draco responded with a casual nod as he came to stand next to him. “That I am.”

They completed painting that wall, the problem of height solved easily by using _magic_ and _spells_. Potter had insisted that they fly themselves up to a certain height to paint the rest of the wall and Draco hadn’t been able to help looking at Potter like he was a mad-man before giving him a better and more reasonable solution of lifting the paint rollers to a greater height.

Potter had seemed disappointed but Draco would take that any day over broken bones and a visit to St. Mungo’s. The wall opposite was also to be coloured with the same paint colour but the one adjacent, where the door was, was supposed to be painted a light, sky blue. Potter had ordered that they leave space for the clouds and whatever other godforsaken thing Potter wanted to draw onto that wall.

He didn’t know who had made Potter in charge of painting the walls and instructing Draco to do the same but he hoped that it would grant him more leniency to do as he wished with the interior decorations of the place. After all, Mr Fillianders was going to be visiting the flat the very next day.

Draco stood back and looked on after they had painted all three walls, watching as Potter climbed a ladder, an actual Muggle ladder, to paint whatever he wished to onto the sky blue wall. There was no fourth wall as the side opposite the door led straight to the kitchen. Draco leaned against the outside of the counter as he witnessed Potter painting the wall with a grace and expertise that Draco hadn’t known Potter had possessed. Maybe he should have.

He watched as Potter, with nothing more than a select few paint brushes and a paint palette hovering around him, managed to transform a plain, light blue wall, into something much more artistic and beautiful. Draco found that his eyes were drawn more towards the relaxed and peaceful expressions on Potter’s face, along with a joyfulness that was most often absent, than his paintings on the wall.

“So,” Potter said, as he started to descend the ladder. “How is it?” He met Draco’s eyes and a spark of the most intense emotion Draco had ever experienced travelled through him.

It was perhaps that, that made him tell Potter the truth. “In this, I must admit defeat, Potter,” Draco said, and he saw a confused expression on Potter’s face. “You were right and I was wrong. Painting is quite enjoyable and you are a very good artist.”

Potter responded with a blinding smile before his expressions turned mischievous. “Not going soft on me, are you, Malfoy?”

Draco snorted. “You wish, Potter.”

Before Draco could elaborate or think of anything else to say, he felt something cold sliding down his back and Potter looked way too smug all of a sudden.

“Potter what–”

Yellow paint had fallen down his robes and threatened to wet his trousers. Draco glanced up at Potter’s now distant and seemingly innocent figure. “These,” he said with a forced calmness, “are one of my favourite robes, Potter.”

Potter was leaning against the door, his hand on the door knob.

Draco made it seem like he was about to take off his robes, but instead pulled his wand out with a flourish, locked the door with the spell already on his lips, _and then_ let his robes drop to the floor. Potter pulled at the door knob reflexively, his eyes widening as he realised what had happened. He was trapped.

He searched for his wand which was in his robes, all the way across from him and nearer to Draco. He swallowed.

Draco was already pulling up his sleeves and getting ready to compete. Forgetting everything else, he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, threw his tie away and motioned for Potter to get his wand.

After all, it was only fun to play when the game was fair. He pushed his hair away from his face with the back of his free hand, bringing his arm up in the process, as Potter ran across the room to grab his wand, his eyes still on Draco as he backed over to his original spot near the door.

Draco tightened his grip on the wand. “You ready, Potter?”

“As long as you are, Malfoy.” Potter responded, taking on an Auror’s stance, as if this were a battle of some sort, and truthfully when was it ever not a battle between them?

Draco’s lips twitched up into a smirk. _“Oh, you don’t know how ready I am, Potter.”_

 

* * *

 

 

_“Oh, you don’t know how ready I am, Potter.”_

That promise had ended with both Harry and Draco being covered in paint from head to toe. The paint had been an absolute bitch to remove, Harry had almost scrubbed his skin off along with the paint, but it had been completely worth it.

The image of Malfoy doused fully in paint, with his hair a bright, shiny, _sunny_ yellow was still stuck in Harry’s head right alongside the slow motion moving image of him bursting out laughing and helplessly falling to the floor. Harry didn’t think he would forget either of those memories anytime soon. He could also remember the way his own smile had trailed all the way to the Burrow, along with the paint dripping down his clothes and stuck to his shoes, and how his cheeks had continued to hurt long after he’d stopped smiling that night.

Everyone had looked at Harry as if he had lost his mind but only Harry knew the truth. Not even Ron and Hermione knew about his deal with his new roommate. They all knew that he was moving into a different flat ‘ _for Ginny, with Ginny’_. He couldn’t help but think now that it was the best decision he’d ever taken.

Sure, he had told Ron and Hermione that he was going to have a new roommate, but they didn’t know who that roommate was going to be. He didn’t even know why he hadn’t told them. It wasn’t a secret as such, he had told Luna a bit about it, but for some reason it felt too personal to just _tell_ someone. He didn’t know why, but he felt a sort of thrill going up his spine when he thought of it like that. A secret. It was a secret. Something that only he and Draco knew of.

Luna and Neville knew a part of it now–Luna more than Nev–but nobody else did, and nobody else would unless they asked. He knew Neville wouldn’t tell anyone, and neither would Luna, and it struck him at that moment that being roommates with Draco was something he truly wanted now, and he was looking forward to it.

So he took a deep breath as he walked out of the Burrow–‘ _going to discuss some things with my roommate’_ _‘gotta get the interior of the house decorated, mate’_ _‘you know how it is, I have to be there’_.

A pleasant gust of wind blew across his face, messing up his hair completely. He groaned and pushed a hand through it, messing it up even more, slightly angrily.

By the time he reached the house, his hair was all over the place. He took uneven breaths, blinked too fast, and tried not to let his anger show. As the door suddenly opened, he did all of the opposites.

Draco stood there with his skin looking a bit reddened, face a bit too pale, but everything else was immaculate, perfectly perfect. Draco’s lips were brought up into a smile as he slowly took note of Harry’s messier-than-usual hair.

Harry let out a huff. His hair fell over his face.

Draco’s lips quirked.

“Okay,” Harry grumbled, only seeing red. “Okay that’s it.” He pushed his hands roughly into his hair, and began to pull at them. Draco quickly lost his grin and stopped him, pulling Harry’s hands carefully away.

“What do you think you’re doing, Potter?” Draco asked.

“You know what,” Harry said, leaning into the wall that was right next to the open door. “I’m trying to fix my _fucking_ fucked up mess of– _fuck!_ ”

He turned to see Draco stifling his laughter, his hand slightly covering his mouth to hide his smile. “Come on in, Potter. Let us try to fix your hair.”

Harry sulked and did as he was told. He was in the middle of the room that he and Draco had painted together, when he stopped and faced him.

Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry, not to communicate with him but just as a reaction. Then he sighed and closed the short distance between him and Harry.

“Hmm,” Draco murmured, more to himself than Harry. He pushed the tips of his fingers into the hair in the front and Harry had to force himself to look away from the overwhelming grey of Draco’s eyes and the furrowing of his brows.

He looked down at the floor, which was completely clean, and thanked the heavens above that magic existed and that he was a wizard. He didn’t know how he and Draco could’ve managed to undo the mess that they had made with the paint otherwise.

As he felt Draco’s thumbs brushing the sides of his head, still working on the hair, his mind drifted off and he wondered how it would feel for Draco to give him a massage–a head massage or a body massage or, perhaps, a full body massage. Harry swallowed heavily at that thought, feeling heat flaming up his face.

Draco’s fingers felt warm and soft and gentle in his hair as they applied light pressure at times, and Harry was completely relaxed, completely melting under his touch. Harry felt putty in Draco’s hands, he would _love_ to be putty in Draco’s hands.

His face burned at that thought, and he berated himself. Had it been so long since he had last kissed Ginny, since he had felt Ginny’s skin beneath his fingers, since he had been touched by her, that his mind suddenly put thoughts like these inside his head at the slightest hints of a seemingly intimate touch?

Draco was fixing his _hair_ for god’s sake, what was wrong with him?

“It looks like you’re all set, Potter,” Draco said, making Harry’s head snap up, which was clearly a mistake. Now all he could see was the victorious grin on Malfoy’s lips, the flaring of his nose, the pride on his face and the hint of an approval in his eyes.

Before Harry could decide on what to say next, Draco cupped Harry’s cheeks in his hands, tilting Harry’s head in different angles and making his face heat up. Harry was about to take a step backwards, but Draco beat him to it, dropping his hands and taking two steps back, and Harry looked up straight into a mirror.

Malfoy had clearly cast a charm, the reason he had stepped back and given Harry such a wide berth now made sense. Harry chose to take a second to assess himself and agree with Draco for what must’ve been the fifth time since he’d met him again.

Draco had turned Harry’s mess of hair, which was usually unbearable to look at and unmanageable at the best of times, into a smooth, soft and silky looking illusion. He’d parted his hair to the side and pushed it back, most certainly with a spell, because Harry hadn’t seen him carrying a comb. But, Harry also mused, that if there _could_ be anyone secretly carrying a comb around in their trouser pocket or in their robes, it would _have_ to be Draco Malfoy.

Harry didn’t get to say any of this or to express his thanks to him because they were interrupted by a knock on the door. He exchanged a quick glance with Draco. They both knew who was at the door, and they’d been expecting him to show up. It was the very reason they were there.

It was Draco who went to open the door, and as soon as he had, announced, “Mr Fillianders is here.”

 

* * *

 

 

Draco was surprised as he reached his empty old flat and found it occupied by the two people who were the very reason that he had brought a new one.

“Hello, Draco,” Pansy said, glancing up at him. She was sitting on the couch with Blaise leaning against the armrest.

“Hello, Pansy,” Draco replied cautiously, not knowing whether he should be more concerned about Pansy’s seemingly casual gaze or Blaise’s fully open stare topped with an amused grin on his lips.

Draco knew that there was a reason for both Pansy and Blaise to have come to visit him in the middle of moving into the new flat, especially when he’d specifically told them that he would be busy that day.

“Well, well, well, Draco,” Blaise said, stroking his armchair and sounding quite like a Bond villain. Draco loathed the fact that he even knew what a Bond villain was, but that had been the result of a drunken Theo allowing Daphne to bring a bunch of Muggle movies, which Millicent had recommended, with her to their flat on a late Friday night almost a year ago. Theo had still lived with them then, and he’d forced Blaise and Draco to endure the torture that he alone would have otherwise had to endure on Daphne’s insistence.

The torture had been presented to them in a few small rectangular boxes which they were supposed to watch on TV, and the movies were a series of James Bond ones. Daphne had fallen more and more in love with each different Bond hero, Theo had admitted to the villains being intriguing, and Blaise had spent the entire time mocking Miss Moneypenny.  

“She has such a British accent,” Blaise had said, and Draco had felt the need to remind him that _they all had British accents, too. They lived in Britain!_

“What do you two want?” Draco asked, irritated. He was honestly running out of patience with these two. All he had wanted after spending most of the day with Potter, talking to Mr Fillianders, and telling him about the changes he’d wanted done to the rooms and the additions, was to reminisce about the whole thing and eat some food in the process.

The last thing he’d wanted was be a part of some petty, little guessing game with Blaise and Pansy.

“We’ve actually heard some things, you see,” Pansy said leaning forwards, eyes not moving from Draco’s. “Rumours.”

“About what and from whom, may I ask?” Draco replied, because he never spoke to a soul except for his old Slytherin classmates, his mother and his father, and now Potter. They were not even roommates yet, but the git was already an almost constant presence in his life, which, as irritating as it had seemed to be, had turned out to be an unexpectedly enjoyable experience.

 _‘At least try, Draco. He might surprise you, and you might surprise yourself,’_ Theo had said and Draco dared to hope for the first time since then that maybe, maybe Theo had been right.

 

* * *

 

 

_‘Draco is a good friend, and he will make an even better roommate. I know that you like him.’_

That had been the first piece of advice Luna had given Harry about him and Draco. She had been right. Harry could see that now. Draco would be a great roommate.

Harry was sprawled out, almost spread eagled onto the wide couch in the Burrow. There were barely any people around inside the house because most of the Weasleys were still outside preparing for the Winter Gala. This was something Harry had taken immediate advantage of when he had reached the place, and had lay comfily on the couch with his eyes mostly closed and his limbs dangling off of it.

He hadn’t felt as relaxed and at peace as he did right then, for a while, not since years before the war. He shifted slightly on the couch and let out a soft sigh as he thought about the time that he had just spent with Draco.

He had let Draco take the lead with their interior decorating plans, watching and listening with interest as Draco had spoken of the different ways in which Mr Fillianders could make changes to the rooms in their flat, and how Draco envisioned them.

Harry had been satisfied with letting Draco speak, only choosing to speak himself when he had a firm opinion or an image of how something in their flat or a particular room that was being spoken about, should be. He had also been surprised at how similar his and Draco’s decorating styles and visions for the flat were, so much so that he had let Draco dictate how his own room would be changed and decorated.

Draco had looked a little shocked, but had been delighted to take over. Harry had tried not to think about how inexperienced he was when it came to having a room of his own, let alone sharing a whole flat with just one other person. It was a flat he’d bought. It was his–and Draco’s–flat now, and Harry felt as nervous and unsure about it as he did proud and excited and absolutely elated.

 _‘I know that you don’t dislike him anymore,’_ Luna had said. _‘Just give it a try, Harry, just give Draco a chance. He might surprise you, and you might even surprise yourself.’_

Harry was glad that he’d talked to Luna because she had been right yet again. Harry didn’t dislike Draco, and he was as predictable to Harry as he was unpredictable. In fact, if there had been one thing that Harry had grown surer of after each interaction with Draco, it had been that he most certainly _did_ like Draco…and Luna had been right about that, too.

 

* * *

 

 

“About you and Potter being roommates,” Blaise spoke up. Draco groaned, choosing to bury his head in his hands.

“Who told you that?” Draco asked, and his fingers itched to crawl up into his hair just so that they could tangle into it and _pull_ and pull on it.

“You see it was a quiet, little birdie–” Pansy started to say, a teasing smile growing at the corner of her lips before Draco interrupted her.

“Who?” Draco snapped this time, with gritted teeth. His voice held an edge of panic to it and he looked up with a helpless sort of urgency.

The fact that _he_ and _Potter_ were becoming roommates should have been known by no one but _Potter_ and _him_. It seemed wrong somehow to tell anyone else of it. He had talked it through with Theo of course, but he doubted that Theo had actually believed that Draco would be going through with his decision.

 _‘Potter might be different, but how could they make it work?’_ Draco had thought back then. He couldn’t have been more wrong. He wanted to become roommates with Potter, it was a good thing, which was why he wanted for it to remain a secret. He wanted it to stay that way, between just them. Anyone else knowing would eventually ruin it. It would taint the one good thing he had going for him.

“Pansy met with Mr Fillianders yesterday. She had been about to cross the road, but decided to go talk to him instead,” Blaise said, and a feeling of dread crept up Draco’s chest.

“Yes,” Pansy said, “and imagine my surprise when he told me exactly who had stopped by his shop earlier that day and who he’d been tending to. You and Potter, apparently.”

Draco took a much needed breath of air and then swallowed it down, his lungs burning. He kept his eyes trained on the ground below him and stayed still, anything more would give him away he knew.

“We know, Draco,” Blaise said, sounding more offended than Draco had expected him to. It made him look up at Blaise and blink at the sudden hurt and vulnerability that shown on his face.

“We know about you and Potter,” Pansy said and she exaggerated the words, adding a meaning to them that was lost to Draco, that he could not really understand. She looked like she was trying to keep calm, keep her emotions under control and not burst out and lash at him in anger or throw accusations at him. Of what, Draco did not know, but he _did_ know that he didn’t understand what was going on at all.

“Yes,” Blaise finally said the words that made Draco realise _exactly_ what was going on–like the middle piece of a jigsaw puzzle suddenly falling into place. “We know that you and Potter are in a relationship together.”

Draco stared at the both of them, wide-eyed. “I– We– are _what_?!” Him. And Potter. In a relationship. Together.

“Don’t even try denying it,” Pansy sounded furious as she stood up, no longer calm and composed. “Mr Fillianders told us _everything!_ ”

Draco was still trying to comprehend what was going on, and what his friends were accusing him of. It wasn’t true and it was so unexpected, so impossible for several reasons, that Draco had the urge to pathetically laugh in their faces. He didn’t though, because he still cared for his well-being.

“Ah, yes,” Blaise continued on, looking less hurt and more betrayed by the second. “He told us all about how you two were acting like such a domestic couple, sitting so close together, and how you and Potter did not even _fight_. In fact, he sat back and let you speak.”

Draco opened his mouth to speak because that was completely untrue. They had most certainly _not_ acted like a domestic couple, thank you very much. Yes, he had answered on Potter’s behalf once– Oh, no. Draco paused his thoughts as he remembered the exchange, feeling cold dread settle in his stomach as he realised his mistake.

_‘Mr Potter, may I ask what brings you to this fair establishment?’_

_‘He’s here with me. I actually came here to ask for a favour from you.’_

_‘He’s here with me,’_ Draco had said. _‘Here with me’_ … _‘with me’_ … _‘he’s with me’_. Then he had proceeded to tell Mr Fillianders all about how he’d bought a house with Potter. Draco felt sick, the world spinning around him as he tightened his grip on the arms of the couch he was currently standing next to. His breathing had become short and ragged. He needed to sit down.

That wasn’t what he had meant when he’d said that. He wasn’t with Potter, Potter wasn’t with him. They were separate entities, separate people living in separate rooms in the same house. All they shared was a roof over their heads.

Becoming roommates with Potter had been a good thing, and now it was tainted. He’d been right. He shouldn’t have involved anybody else, he should’ve watched his mouth, should’ve watched what he’d said.

“Say something,” he heard an angry breath.

“Say something, Draco. Anything. Tell us you haven’t been keeping this from us, tell us that we’re wrong,” Pansy almost pleaded with him.

Now that, Draco could do.

“You’re wrong,” he said and saw two faces looking at him evenly. He knew they didn’t believe him. “You’re wrong,” he added, with more emphasis this time. “Potter isn’t with me. He never was.”

Draco felt sicker and was completely flushed. His voice came out a bit broken and he didn’t know why.

“Well, we know that Potter and Ginny Weasley haven’t been seen together in the longest time. So long, in fact, that there were rumours going around about their breakup.” Blaise said. He knew that Draco already knew about this.

“We also know that she left for her Harpies Tour as soon as Potter came back from his Auror Training, which only led to more rumours. Maybe the breakup was a reality,” Pansy said as she looked at Draco. He knew of that too.

He’d been the one who’d told them that. But this had been then and now…now….

“You’re wrong,” he repeated, but before either of his friends could speak, he continued. “You’re both wrong because Potter is engaged to She-Weasley. He had proposed to her a week before I first met with him.”

His confession was met with silence as both Pansy and Blaise looked at Draco with disbelief in their eyes.

As Pansy walked over after a few moments and dropped down on the couch next to him, and Blaise sat on the now empty couch adjacent to it, she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “Tell us everything,” she said, and so he did.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry was woken up from an already forgotten dream by pale freckled hands. He couldn’t tell whose they were. He blinked for a few moments, expecting the eyes he looked up into to be grey. When they weren’t, he quickly shook himself awake and wondered what that had been about. He also tried to shake away the disappointment that welled up within.

“Harry, mate, you alright?” Ron asked him. Harry rubbed at his eyes and stifled a yawn as he nodded his head.

“Jus’ tired. Sleepin’,” he murmured sitting up. Ron sat down next to him, and Harry suddenly noticed that Hermione was with him too. She’d sat down next to Ron. “Hey, ‘Mione,” Harry greeted her with a sleep-softened smile.

“Have a good nap, Harry?” she asked and he nodded with a grin. He’d had the best nap he’d taken in a while, and he’d woken up feeling more refreshed and alive and _him_. He felt like he could fight, like maybe becoming an Auror hadn’t been so bad after all, because he felt like kicking some arse.

“So,” Ron said, letting out an exhale and Harry turned to him with traces of the grin still on his lips, “while you were out today, Luna and Neville came by.”

Harry froze, the grin on his lips immediately dropping.

“They told us some interesting things, Harry,” Hermione said, and Harry swallowed the bile rising up his throat at her sharp tone. “One of them being that they’d met with you yesterday, in their shop, and you were there with Malfoy.”

Harry didn’t dare to look at Hermione in that moment; he didn’t even dare to look at Ron. He looked down at his threadbare t-shirt and tangled the top of his fingers into the hem of it.

“Malfoy, mate, really? You’re becoming roommates with Malfoy and _you’re happy about it?_ ” Ron asked, looking a bit out of sorts, like he didn’t quite know what to do with that information.

A lump grew in Harry’s throat. “Yeah, pretty much,” he managed to croak out with a shrug. He wanted to make it seem casual but the motion came out stiff and all wrong.

“Harry,” Hermione said his name in a way that warranted a long-winded explanation. “How did this happen?”’

“Wait, so it’s true? It’s all true? Everything Neville and Luna told us?” Ron exclaimed. Harry nodded his head again. The lump kept growing. “Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell us you were going to be roommates with Malfoy?”

“I– I– don’t know,” Harry admitted. His eyes burned with the resolution of not letting tears fall. He didn’t even know why he felt like crying all of a sudden. Why was he such an emotional mess all the time? “I just–” His vision blurred as his eyes welled up and he took a shaky breath.

“Harry–” Ron started to say, and he sounded apologetic, which only made Harry tear up more as he pulled Ron into a tight hug. “Harry?” Ron hesitated for a moment before hugging him back unsurely. “Was it Malfoy? What did he do? I swear if he said something to hurt you or if he actually did hurt you–”

Ron stopped speaking when Harry shook his head and loosened his grip. “I’m just scared,” he said in a small voice.

“If you’re scared of that git Malfoy….” Ron trailed off as Harry shook his head again.

“Then what, Harry?” Hermione finally spoke up as Harry pulled away from the hug. Ron was looking at him with an open, sincere expression on his face and Hermione, with one full of curiosity. “What are you scared of?”

“The flat. I never– I’ve never had my own place before, not even my own room. What if I– What if I fuck this up? What if I turn out to be a bad roommate and Malfoy wants me to leave or what if _he_ leaves?” The words came rushing out in a tumble, like water falling from a great height.

He was left gasping slightly for air and Hermione looked speechless, showing the same out-of-sorts expression that Ron had shown earlier. Ron, however, put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and said, “Mate, you’re going to be fine.” He said it in a way that was confident.

“How do you know that, Ron? How do you _know_?”

“It’s you,” Ron said, “and I know you. I’ve been staying in the same room as you for almost ten years in a row and I’ve never wanted to leave. If Malfoy wants to though, you can kick the fucker out no questions asked, and if he wants to kick you out, well, he can’t. You two have joint custody of the house and a contract which legally binds him to you. So he can try, but he won’t succeed in kicking you out.”

Harry pushed his hand through his hair, feeling a bit better. He paused for a few good seconds as he remembered Draco’s voice telling him to _‘Stop it.’_ He wasn’t crying anymore.

 _‘You always do that when you're nervous, Potter. It's a bad habit and you really should stop doing it, as it only worsens the condition of your already bad hair,’_ he had said, and Harry had agreed with him.

“Harry?” Hermione called out and Harry realised he was smiling, widely. He couldn’t help it and he just couldn’t seem to stop. “Why do you care about what Malfoy thinks of you?”

An icy coldness started to push through Harry’s heart and he resumed pushing his fingers through his hair, momentarily ignoring the question and closing his eyes. He felt the ghosting trail of familiar fingers joining his own as he remembered. Harry remembered Malfoy’s fingers pushing through his hair just that morning, his hands cupping Harry’s cheeks, lips brushing….

He froze, icy coldness now in his veins. He could feel Ron and Hermione’s eyes on him, waiting for his answer, for his reaction. But Harry had none left to give because he couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that _their lips had never brushed together. They had never kissed._

He was marrying Ginny, he had proposed to her and got engaged to her.

 _‘_ _You’ve never even gone out on a date with her, and yet the first thing you did after you completed your training and went home was propose to her.’_

_‘Is this a decision that you’re taking because it’s what other people want from you or because it’s what you want?’_

_‘Are you doing this because you want her or you need her?’_

“I don’t know,” Harry said out loud. He looked up at Ron and Hermione, made eye contact with the both of them and made sure it held, as he said, “I don’t know.”

Harry could imagine Malfoy in his mind’s eye, shaking his head with a disapproving look on his face, because they both knew Harry was lying.  

 

* * *

 

 

The following week was full of work for Draco and Harry, so they had both talked it through and decided to give Mr Fillianders the third key to their flat. Since they wanted the interior of the place done as soon as possible, and Mr Fillianders was someone that Draco implicitly trusted, he had given him until Friday night to make the changes that he was supposed to. Harry and Draco would then go collect the third key from him and take a look at their newly done flat before going to back to the shop and paying him.

When Saturday morning finally came, they were both ready.

Harry was waiting outside Mr Fillianders’ store, drumming his fingers against his robes and politely trying to ignore the stares and the whispers, when he spotted Draco.

“Draco, here!” Harry yelled with a wave at him. He couldn’t help himself, he felt relieved.

Draco immediately saw him–more relief–and walked over. “Good morning, Potter,” Draco greeted him with a head nod and a quick smile, and Harry had the wildest urge to pinch himself to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming.

This wasn’t a dream, it was actually happening. Draco was talking to him and smiling at him with warmth in his voice and Harry liked that.

“Hey,” Harry replied, a smile, wide and warm, already on his lips. “You ready?”

“I don’t know, Potter. Are you?” Harry grinned.

 

* * *

 

 

They found themselves facing the door that led to their flat, neither of them making a move, just staring at the door in front of them. Draco found himself looking over at Potter, just as Harry looked over at him.

Harry couldn’t believe it was their flat, just theirs. Draco couldn’t believe that he had actually bought the place, not rented it like his previous place with practically the whole of his Slytherin clan. That Slytherin clan had dispersed one by one, until it had just been Draco, Blaise and Theo. Then it had been just Draco and Blaise, and then just Draco.

Now, it was Draco and Potter, and it still seemed as surreal as it had the first time the thought had come to his mind.

Harry took a deep breath and tried to brace himself before he spoke. “Do it.”

Draco took out the keys to the place and opened the door of their flat. As they walked inside, Harry’s breath almost left his lungs. “Oh my god.”

The flat looked completely different, with paintings hung on the walls, a soft carpet spread across the floor, and side shelves and drawers. It seemed so different from the Burrow, but so much like someplace he could call his home. His eyes widened as he suddenly thought of his room and ran for it.

Draco’s eyes widened as he followed Potter, bending down to wiggle his fingers against the carpeted floor. It wasn’t just the living room floor, the whole flat had been carpeted and Draco stopped outside Potter’s room, hearing Potter’s gasp of “whoa!” and feeling a smile growing on his face.

It wasn’t painted a typical red and gold like Potter had expected, instead, the room had been painted with warm colours, seeming like they had been splashed onto the walls or like the paints had spilled from their buckets. It was Luna’s and Longbottom’s place that had given Draco the idea, and observing Potter’s face, he could tell that it had been a good one. The ceiling too had been painted the same way.

Draco hadn’t known what changes to make to Potter’s room so he had chosen to do it based off of the things he already knew about Potter. There was a cupboard for his clothing, a large shelf to keep his Auror books in, and a hanger to hang his robes and other pieces of clothing on. The large window placed in the centre of the wall, opposite the door, looked out towards the city, and in the distance behind the buildings were mountains and a large, overhead sun.

“Draco, this is….” Potter looked over at him with awe, as if he hadn’t known a simple thing like curtain change and extra bed cushions not only gave his room a personality that screamed Potter, but also made life easier and more comfortable for him. There was a beanbag on the carpeted floor, too.

“You like it, Potter?” He asked, and he should’ve heard a smirk in his tone, he should’ve, but all he heard was himself asking a genuine question, and actually sounding interested in the answer that would be spoken to him.

Before Draco could realise what had happened, Potter had wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a hug. Draco froze because he had no clue what was happening. Was this some sort of a counter attack on Draco taking the lead in changing his room? If it was, then it was working in making Draco feel slightly uncomfortable.

So Draco’s hands might have slowly wrapped around Potter and hugged him back, but he couldn’t be blamed for that, could he?

“Thank you,” Harry spoke, and felt himself warming up in Draco’s embrace. He had been so worried, so nervous, so scared and afraid and– But he wasn’t anymore, and it was all thanks to Draco. “My room looks amazing,” he said as they parted from the hug. “I love it.”

He saw those grey eyes soften in response and realised that there was one other room they still had to look into. He pulled Draco by his hand and stopped in front of his room. “Your Highness,” he said, bending slightly.

Draco rolled his eyes and pushed open the door to enter his own room. Harry walked in behind him and promptly gasped. Draco’s room looked extravagant. He had a moving wallpaper of a grassy field across all of the walls, the constant winds seeming to blow the grass in one direction and the cool blue sky holding fluffy clouds and seeming to give a sense of perfectly pleasant weather.

As Harry whirled around, looking at the wallpaper, he saw a faraway house-like thing and stepped towards that particular wall, squinting slightly. He suddenly felt like his heart would leap into his throat as he figured out what it was. “That,” he said, pointing to the mansion and looking at Draco, “that’s the Manor, isn’t it?”

Draco nodded his head. “This was my favourite place to sit when I was a child, and that was my favourite place to look,” Draco said, looking above him. Harry too looked at the ceiling and was filled with shock for it seemed to contain the dark night sky with a moon and twinkling stars. “Tell me, Potter. Do you like stargazing?”

Harry shook his head. “I’ve never been stargazing,” he truthfully said.

“Well perhaps, one day, I shall take you there, and we shall stargaze all night.”

Harry’s heart beat harder than any sets of drums as he spent a few minutes trying to grasp for words. “I think I’d like that. I really would.”

Malfoy’s room had a balcony where Harry’s had a huge window and it seemed even bigger than it had the last time he’d taken a look at the room. Maybe Draco had extended it somehow. Harry’s eyes roamed around other parts of the room and fell on the foldable desk that was connected to a wall. He guessed that Draco would probably be working on his articles there when he was at home and not in his office. He also noticed a third door–the second led to the bathroom–and the blatant lack of furniture in the room. There were no cupboards, no drawers, nothing, just a lot of empty space.

Harry’s attention turned to the third door in the room again, and he felt his breathing growing slightly erratic. “Draco,” he called out, “what’s in there?” He looked at Draco then at the door then back at Draco, and saw a slow excited smile spreading across his lips.

“I shall show you,” Draco said, and now _he_ was dragging Potter by the sleeves of his robes to the door. Draco had never had the chance to do this before, he’d never had an flat of his own, and now that he had one, he was ecstatic that he had finally gotten the chance to do this. He took a deep breath and opened the door, standing to the side to let Potter walk in first.

Harry stepped inside, and he couldn’t believe his eyes. “This is–”

“It’s a walk-in closet,” Draco said, walking in behind him, and it was. It was a walk-in closet, but there was also no way that it could be _just a closet_ because it was huge. It was a room all of its own with shelves and drawers and hangers and racks, and now Harry understood why Draco’s room was so empty.

“Come on, Potter,” Harry looked at Draco, who had elbowed him lightly, and whose eyes were now shining. “There is something else I need to show you.”

Harry nodded his head and followed Draco from his room to the end of the corridor. There was nothing there except for a wall, but Harry knew better. He turned to the side to see Draco leaning back with a smirk, as if waiting for Harry to do something. Harry took out his wand and murmured a spell under his breath before touching the tip of it to the wall he was facing. The wand lit up.

“Hurry up, _Auror_ Potter,” Draco said as Harry recited a spell to a reveal hidden door, which most probably led to a secret room. “Finally he does it.” Draco stood up straight and went to pull the door open. “Why the Ministry would want give you the biggest Auror’s office, I will never know.”

Harry huffed out a breath as he kept his wand back in his robes. “Shut up, Malfoy. At least I manage to keep my office clean,” he muttered and went to stand next to him. The door had opened to reveal a set of stairs that went down.

“How was I supposed to know that we have to clean our office all by ourselves?” Draco asked and Harry looked at him, amused.

They began their downward descent and an unsettling feeling grew at the bottom of Harry’s stomach. Draco was silent as they walked down the stairs, and Harry wished he would say something; tell him where they were going or what was going on, because Harry definitely couldn’t find the words to ask.

When they reached the bottom though, there was a different reason for Harry not being able to speak any words–it was because he was speechless. Sure enough, the door and the sets of stairs led to a secret room in the basement of their flat.

One half of the room was turned into a Potions Lab with an empty, clean table where the cauldron would be kept, along with the rest of the ingredients Draco would need as he worked on making particular potions or simply, as he called it back at Hogwarts, _experimented_. There were shelves on both sides, which would obviously store the abundant amount of ingredients that Draco had at the ready so he could pluck them off and work with them however he needed to.

Harry tore his eyes off of that part of the room and looked at the other. “I talked to Mr Fillianders,” Draco said, “about making this room. When we first came here to look at the flat, I had my mind set on turning the bathroom in your room into a Potions lab, but since that was not possible, I asked Mr Fillianders to create a spare room. He said it would be quite expensive but we do have an abundance of money, so that is no problem. Also, since he was making a room this large anyway, I figured out that you would need somewhere to practice your Auror skills, and I think I have more than enough space to practice making Potions. So, I hope you don’t mind.”

Harry didn’t dare breathe. He couldn’t breathe because on the other side was what looked like a typical practice room in the Ministry. Harry and Ron used to go duel a few rounds in there when they had still been training, and he’d also done those weird stealth and stamina tests there whenever they’d been required of him.

The practice room brought back so many memories and it made him yearn for the days he’d spent with his friends and living with Ron. He hadn’t necessarily enjoyed the training, but he’d enjoyed being a part of a group that big and feeling as if this was somewhere he finally belonged.

“Potter?” Draco asked. “Is this okay?”

Harry felt a foreign emotion, strong and deep, pass through him, rattling and shaking him from his very core. He couldn’t say anything more as he firmly nodded his head, only a “Thank you.”

“Not a problem, Potter,” Draco said, already making his way up the stairs, “Not a problem.” Harry simply followed.

He wondered what Draco would do if Harry hugged him again, wondered if there was anything that he could say to properly express his emotions to Draco, to tell him how thankful and grateful he was for all of this. It had turned out to be so much better than anything he had expected.

Draco didn’t say anything to him, merely stayed a quiet presence by his side, which made Harry think that maybe Draco had realised how Harry felt, or he at least had an inkling, and he was letting Harry take it all in, giving him the much needed time and space to register and let all of this sink in. Or maybe he was going through the same motions himself.

Harry was so overwhelmed by emotions that a nudge to his shoulder made him jump. “We should probably unpack,” Draco said, and without giving Harry a chance to reply, he walked away.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco closed the door to his room, the image of Potter’s face burning in his brain. The way Potter had looked at him and hugged him so tightly after he'd seen his room, and the way he’d gaped at their secret room in the basement. Draco had expected a ‘not bad, Malfoy’ or a ‘thanks’ thrown his way. He had not expected the expressions that had shown on Potter’s face to be so intense that they would make Draco feel the same way.

Mr Fillianders had done a well enough job of turning their flat into an exact replica of what Draco had envisioned, but that had been expected of him. The rooms, the Potions Lab, it was all as he had asked. Draco suddenly remembered though, that there was one last thing he’d asked for and quickly peeked into his bathroom, smiling at the sight he saw there. He had a bathtub with a shower, of course, but there was also now a Jacuzzi in the middle of the bathroom.

He figured he’d let Potter use it once in a while if he wanted to, only because Draco was trying to be civil, not because he wanted to see the awe and wonder etched onto Potter’s face, and most certainly not because he _cared_ for Potter and wanted him to be _happy_. _No!_

“Potter!” Draco called out, slamming his door open. “Potter, I–” He froze midway to the kitchen and blinked as he looked at Potter placing something familiar-looking on the counter. “Is that a toaster...or a microwave?” he asked, trying to guess.

Potter turned to him and patted the item he’d kept down very proudly. “This,” he said, “is a microwave.” Ah, so Draco’s guess had been right. Potter took a few steps forward and patted another metallic item. “ _This_ is the toaster.”

Draco frowned, looking at both the items and then at Potter, who was unshrinking another item from his pocket. “What are you doing, Potter?”

“Well, I figured that our flat would be mostly empty and since this is a flat for wizards, I thought that it probably wouldn’t have most Muggle–especially electrical–appliances, so I brought along some Muggle items we might need and food stuff.”

“Food stuff.” Draco’s frown deepened, and he watched Potter moving around, keeping things in place.

“We do have a dishwasher, don't we?” Potter asked him, and Draco nodded his head. He remembered Charlotte mentioning it the first time they'd looked at the flat together.

_‘This flat can hold any Muggle or wizarding appliances. There have been intricate spells worked into every corner and layered into every inch of the flat to make sure that you face no problems with handling your electrical appliances and to ensure that all the rest of your Muggle appliances work smoothly. In fact, an additional benefit for you if you wish to buy this flat, will be that it already has a dishwasher fixed into the kitchen.’_

_‘Oh,’_ Potter’s eyes had lit up with interest then, _‘it does?’_

The sound of Potter pulling out the dishwasher made Draco snap back to the present. “Hmm,” Potter hummed and then pushed it close before turning to Draco again. “Where do you think I should keep the washing machine?”

 

* * *

 

 

Harry was surprised when Draco volunteered to help him unload all of his Muggle items and food stuff. They managed to unshrink and keep all of the items in place more efficiently than Harry had thought possible. So it only made sense for Harry to offer to help Draco unpack his items into his room.

“You know Potter, there was a reason I came outside to call for you.” Draco spoke as both he and Harry unpacked Draco’s clothes. Draco had told Harry where every piece of his clothing, all of his shoes and socks, and anything that remained was to be placed and they both had quietly been walking to and from the walk-in closet for a while.

“Yeah? What was it?” Harry asked, stretching onto his toes to put one of Draco’s old robes on a high up shelf in the closet.

Draco huffed and took it from him, ignoring Harry’s glare as he kept it there himself. “My bathroom has a Jacuzzi,” he said, and Harry bit his lip.

“A Jacuzzi,” he repeated, and Draco nodded his head.

“I requested it, but you need not worry, Potter. You can use it whenever you want to.”

Harry’s hand reflexively went down to his robes, Draco’s eyes followed the motion. “I actually don’t know what a Jacuzzi is,” he admitted and saw Draco’s eyebrows rise.

After Draco had explained to Harry what a Jacuzzi was and demonstrated its use, _and_ after they had unpacked the bags of clothes Draco had brought over and completely emptied them, it was time to unpack all of the rest of Draco’s bags.

Half of them contained books. “Fairytale books for wizards,” Draco said when Harry pointed to a collection of them. Another bunch of books were all related to Potions, another were English literature, Harry found a few that talked about how to give a speech and kept those in mind for future reference. Who knew when he’d need to use them to sharpen his non-existent speaking skills.

What he found really interesting was at the bottom of one of the bags, as if hidden from view. “Malfoy, are these Muggle classics?” Harry asked. He could hear the shock in his own voice.

Draco immediately snatched them from his grasp. “Maybe,” he said and went over to place them on the bookshelf before resuming the unpacking of the rest of his bags. Malfoy had brought at least a dozen bags with him and he’d made Harry unpack his books whilst he unpacked whatever else was left.

Harry tried not to snoop too much, he tried to give Draco some privacy, but he found himself watching him from the corner of his eyes, noticing the various items Draco took out from his bags.

One had a few family photo frames, some with just him, some with him and his parents and there were one or two with his Slytherin friends–funny ones where they seemed to be kids. Another one had a guitar that he lifted out of it. By the time Draco had unshrunk the last object from his final bag, Harry had finished stacking up all of Draco's books on the shelves. He didn't even pretend to be looking elsewhere as a huge piano covered the majority of the empty space in the room.

“You can play the guitar and piano?” Harry questioned and noticed how even as Draco looked up, his fingers trailed across the top of the piano.

“Yes,” Draco answered. “I can.” There was no sarcastic comment, no noise erupting from Draco's throat, and no typical look from him that just screamed ‘you're so dumb, Potter’. It was a straight up answer. Yes, he could.

“Do you think that you could play it for me sometime? The piano and the guitar, both? I'd love to hear it.”

He saw Draco take a minute to realise what Harry had said and then a soft red colour flushed his cheeks. Harry smiled.

“Yes, I could, Potter. I have just recently learned how to play the guitar so I’ve been practicing a lot, but it has been years since I last played the piano so I might be a bit out of practice.”

“I don't care. I just want to hear you play it.” Harry insisted.

Draco pursed his lips, looking into Harry's eyes, searching them, before he said, “Alright, Potter. It would be my pleasure.”

 

* * *

 

 

“We’re done,” Potter huffed out a laugh, dropping down onto the sofa. “We’re done. Can you believe it, Draco? We’re done!” Potter exclaimed and let his head fall back.

Draco found himself staring at Potter, but when Potter looked back with a goofy grin on his face, he quickly looked away. “I cannot,” Draco admitted, “actually believe it.” They had managed to unpack everything, had gone to Mr Fillianders’ shop to pay him and tell him about what a nice job he’d done–or in Potter’s case, gush over him–and had finally reached back home in one piece.

They had both forgotten to get something to eat, and Draco could feel his stomach screaming for food along with the exhaustion and weariness that filled his bones. Draco started to speak, to tell Potter that they should probably eat some of the food they’d stuffed in the fridge, but Potter suddenly stood up.

“I think we should celebrate,” he announced, and proceeded to remove and unshrink a pack of beers from his robes. Draco raised an eyebrow at that, wondering how Potter had fit so many items in his robes. Had Draco not fully been utilising all of the extra space in his robe pockets? Had Potter maybe just altered his robes so that they could fit everything in them? Draco would have to ask him about that.

“Perhaps we should eat something first,” Draco said, “before we get drunk on beer.” Draco’s stomach flipped as Potter’s eyes settled on him. There was that wonder in his eyes again.

“Beer’s a Muggle drink. How do you know about it?” Harry asked, and just as Draco was about to respond, he continued. “In fact, how do you know what a microwave and a toaster are? And a dishwasher and a washing machine?”

Draco sighed and pushed his hand through his hair absent-mindedly, debating whether he should tell Potter about the extent of his knowledge of the Muggles and exactly how it had started after he had left Hogwarts. He hadn’t realise what he had done until he heard a sharp inhale from next to him. He turned to Potter to see a dazed look on his face, his eyes trained on Draco’s hair and his fingers.

Draco felt heat enveloping his face as he fought to keep his calm, trying to look away from those green eyes and the parted lips. He found himself licking his own lips, and his heart almost stopped when he saw Potter biting at the corner of his own lip, his throat suddenly extremely dry.

“I’ll get the food stuff,” he volunteered quickly and got up, almost sprinting to the kitchen. His heart was racing as he opened up the fridge. He could put together something simple right? He’d learnt a few cooking skills while he’d been staying with his friends. Millie had even signed them all up for some cooking classes once.

“Do you need any help?” Draco startled and looked up at the source of the noise. “I could help,” Potter offered.

Draco wanted to scream at him, he wanted to say ‘no, Potter, I do not need your help’ but instead he nodded his head and shifted to the side.

“You know,” Potter said as he pulled out a few things from the fridge, “you still haven’t answered my question.” That made Draco pause for a moment to remember what Potter had asked him.

“It was Daphne,” he said, leaning against the counter as his eyes followed Potter’s movements. “And Millicent. Millie got Daph into everything Muggle, and after that she was an unstoppable force. We could avoid Millicent since we had no reason to meet with her very often, but Daphne was unshakeable, especially after she got together with Theo.”

Potter nodded his head. “Nott’s your friend, of course you wouldn’t want to avoid him too.”

“Yes, Potter, Nott is our friend, but he also used to be our roommate, so no, we could not avoid him or his girlfriend no matter how desperately we might’ve wanted to.” Draco explained.

“Oh.” Potter was putting together a sandwich, Draco guessed accurately from the ingredients that were out. “So you lived with Zabini and Nott in your old flat?”

“I lived with Blaise, Theo, Pansy, Millicent and Daphne,” Draco corrected. “Then Daphne, Pans and Millicent got a place of their own and moved away, which was quite a relief since our flat would feel crowded at times. But then Theo had to move out to live with Daphne, and Blaise had to do the same with Pansy.” Draco shrugged and pushed his hand through his hair again.

Potter was silent for a few seconds as Draco looked ahead. He didn’t dare to turn, he knew that Potter was staring at him. “You do the same thing.” Draco turned. “My bad habit of ruining my hair, of pushing my hand through it, you do the same thing, but–” Potter’s eyes went up to his hair again and he suddenly licked his lips, meeting Draco’s gaze.

This was a mistake. This whole conversation was a mistake. In fact, maybe this whole roommates situation had been–

“But what, Potter?” Draco pushed those thoughts away and forced himself to say.

He saw Potter swallowing thickly and found himself being distracted by Potter’s throat and neck. He looked up, face flamed, as Potter spoke. “But it actually makes your hair look better.”

Draco promptly froze. “What?” He wasn’t breathing, wasn’t blinking, wasn’t moving a muscle.

“Yeah…yeah, you look– I mean the hair, it gets all– and you look– and–” Potter’s mouth seemed to be moving but not forming anymore words.

Draco dared to breath in some air. “Potter,” his voice came out cracked and dry like the walls of an old house. “Can you try to construct normal sentences please?” Potter’s cheeks had puffed out, his face had gone slightly rouge and he was breathing hard.

“Your hair looks better like this, Draco, okay? You look better like this, when you aren’t trying too hard to impress other people. That’s what I meant.” Potter managed to say three whole sentences and Draco really wished they could go back to when Potter hadn’t been able to form whole sentences, because Potter was plating their sandwiches and it was now Draco who couldn’t speak.

“Alright, here you go,” Potter said, casually handing Draco his plate of chicken sandwich. “Could you grab some crisps with that? You know where they are. I’ll take out our cans of beer.”

Draco nodded his head and saw Potter briskly walk away without even looking at him. He grabbed a packet of crisps (of course he’d known where they’d been, he had helped Potter to stock up their food supplies) and walked into the living room.

Potter had already opened up their cans and handed Draco his beer after he’d put the crisps on the table. As Draco sat down next to Potter and watched him rip open the packet, he asked, “Shall I get us a bowl to keep them in?”

Potter looked surprised at the question but gave a proper reply nonetheless. “I really don’t think we need one, but if it makes you feel more comfortable then I don’t mind.”

Draco spent a few minutes debating it, even as Potter dove into his sandwich with vigour, before he relaxed into his seat and began to eat his own sandwich. For the first time since they’d met after three years, they let the silence between them grow and linger, they let it stay and feel comfortable.

It felt surprisingly comfortable reaching out for and munching on crisps in between bites of his sandwich and then downing his beer between intervals. They both hadn’t realised that they’d missed eating lunch and had been about to miss out on having their dinner, too. Draco looked to his free side, in the direction of the kitchen where he could see the time of the day from out of the window. It was dark and dreary outside, which was a complete contrast to the warmth Draco felt, sitting down next to Potter and having their quick, homemade dinner.

“What did it feel like, Potter?” Draco was tempted into talking eventually. Potter had such a relaxed expression on his face and he looked so at peace, that Draco almost took back his words. He couldn’t now though, as Potter had already heard them.

 _Potter looks happy_ , he thought and felt an unexpected warmth sizzle in his stomach. _This makes him happy._ A quiet homemade dinner for two along with a pack of beers. Was that all it took for Potter to be happy?

“What did what feel like?” Potter asked, and he was looking at Draco with a dopey grin. Draco couldn’t ask him.

He took a huge gulp of his beer. He was going to ask him. “What did dying feel like?”

Potter’s expressions immediately sobered up. “It felt like the worst thing ever and simultaneously the best. I was going to go meet all of the people I cared so much about, who were all dead, but I would be leaving behind the rest. You know what though, Draco, choosing to live was both, simultaneously, the best decision and in some ways the worst.”

Another long bout of silence followed the confession, soft sounds of the two boys finishing up their first cans of beer and opening up new ones were all that could be heard. They sipped at their beers, eyes on the table and minds speeding through thoughts at the speed of lightning as they thought of nothing and everything.

The carefully kept silence around them shattered as a phone started buzzing. Potter kept his almost empty beer on the table and fished his phone out of his pocket. His eyebrows rose as he saw the name that flashed on it.

“It’s Ginny,” he said, sounding surprised. The phone kept buzzing in his hand and he kept staring at it.

“Well, take it, Potter,” Draco admonished him. “You can’t keep staring at it forever.”

That seemed to snap Potter out of his stupor, and he immediately stood up, taking the call as he walked away. Draco leaned back and looked away from Potter as he disappeared from view. He threw his head back a little, titling his can and drinking the beer. He could still hear Potter’s voice coming from the corridor; he was talking to She-Weasley. She-Weasley, who was soon to become a Potter.

Draco emptied his second can of beer and picked up a third.

By the time Harry came back, he noticed that Draco had finished a quarter of his third can. “Hey!” Harry exclaimed, “Why didn’t you wait for me?” When Draco just shrugged and kept drinking in response, Harry pulled the can away from his lips, earning himself an annoyed look from him. “At least let me catch up with you.”

Draco sighed and nodded his head. Harry didn’t need any further motivation. He drank down the remaining beer from his second can in a single swallow and quickly opened his third. “You can go easy, Potter. I’m waiting now.” But Harry didn’t want to go easy. He downed almost a fifth of the drink at once and let out a cough. He could feel his eyes burning, but he didn’t care.

A warm hand patted his back as another one held his shoulder. Harry closed his eyes and heavily leaned against Draco, riding out the coughs. Then he took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. “Everything alright, Potter?” Draco asked. “What did She-Weasley say?”

“She told me she missed me, and that her tour will be going on for a bit longer, so she’ll be coming back later than expected.” As soon as he finished speaking, the hands holding him dropped. Harry saw Draco shifting in his seat and wished he would come closer. He wished he could hug Draco again.

 _‘I miss you so much, Harry,’_ Ginny had spoken through the phone, and Harry had almost been able to imagine her being there, right next to him. _‘I wish you were here with me right now. I love you!’_

Harry’s throat had lumped at the last three words and Draco’s words from the coffee shop had come back to him. _‘It took you long enough to say the words Potter, but have you ever said them out loud to her?’_

 _‘Me too, Gin. I miss you loads,’_ Harry had said before he’d hung up the phone.

“Draco, have you ever wished for someone to love you so badly, to just infinitely, boundlessly and completely fall in love with you, that when it happens, you don’t think about whether it’s right or wrong. You don’t think about whether you love them back or how much you love them back, you just think about the fact that they love you, and that’s all that matters. Have you ever felt like that, Draco?”

Draco’s grey eyes were latched onto Harry’s. He shook his head, making Harry look down at the rising and falling of his own chest. “That was all I wanted. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for the longest time. To have someone I can love, to have someone who loves me, to have a family I can love and a family who loves me. Now, I get the chance to make that happen.

“Tell me, Draco–” Harry’s beer bottle was almost empty, there was just one final mouthful remaining. Harry took it before he asked, “–is it better to love someone or is it better to be loved by someone?”

 

* * *

 

 

Draco woke up the next morning with Potter’s questions buzzing around his head along with a slight ache along his temples and a constant one in his forehead. Stupid Potter and his stupid questions turning Draco into an internal, emotional mess and making him actually _think_ about these things.

Had a weekly dose of an existential crisis not been enough, did he have to add the dozy pillock’s dozens of love questions to the mix? Draco didn’t think he had enough mental strength to go through that.

He walked past the piano to his bathroom, looking up at the messy, tangled hair and the shit-tired face, then down at his Jacuzzi. He smiled.

An hour later, Draco was completely ready, freshened up, out of his room and in the kitchen. He had taken a shower after his Jacuzzi bath, and they had both been long, warm, relaxing and just as satisfying as he had heard and hoped that they would be.

Draco was the only one in the kitchen, and he couldn’t make out any sounds from Potter’s room which meant that Potter had to be sleeping. Draco smirked. After making two hot mugs of tea and filling two plates with bacon and eggs, Draco knocked on the door to Potter’s room.

“Potter,” he said. There was no sound. “Potter!” Draco called out a little louder, still no response. “Potter,” Draco hissed, deciding to open the door to his room without his permission and promptly stopped.

He had been right. Potter was still sleeping soundly, like a caterpillar in its cocoon, on his bed. He was rolled up into an almost ball on his side, softly snoring, and Draco noticed that he hadn’t pulled a blanket over his body or taken his glasses off. He huffed out in annoyance and kept the breakfast tray that had been floating behind him, down on the drawer right next to Potter’s bed. Stupid Potter with his stupid scar and stupid snoring and stupid, pathetic ability to sleep almost immediately in any situation.

He sighed and sat down on the very edge of the bed, taking a second to let himself look at Potter before he gently kept his hand on Potter’s arm and shook him. “Potter,” he softly said. “Potter.”

Potter blinked confusedly, his hand almost knocking his glasses off as he started to sit up. His eyes seemed unfocused until they settled on Draco, and then he sat up straighter, positioning his glasses properly and looking directly into Draco’s eyes.

“Draco,” he said. Draco’s heart, which had welled up when Potter had been sleeping and looking like an actual child, suddenly cried. “What time is it?” Potter asked and stifled a yawn.

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco said. “Get up, get ready, and don’t forget to brush your teeth; your breath stinks.”

Potter groaned and muttered an “I hate you,” before adding a “not really, but still,” and walking over to his bathroom. Draco debated telling Potter he could use the Jacuzzi if he so wished, but decided against it. He could still feel the inevitably of that existential crisis looming over him. He knew it would come crashing down when he would least expect it. He wondered when that would be.

Potter came out of the bathroom fully dressed and finally noticed the breakfast Draco had kept on top of the drawers. He was wearing a too-loose tattered t-shirt, which somehow suited him, and regular, loose bottoms. Potter shook his wet hair a little making Draco scowl before he walked over to the other side of the bed and sat down besides Draco.

Neither of them spoke, the tension of spoken and unspoken words from the night before, lying heavy in between them. Draco waited and bided his time. It was when they were both holding their mugs of tea and had balanced their breakfast plates on their thighs, that Draco finally asked, “Potter, how do you feel about the inevitability of death?” Potter choked on his tea. “I mean, it’s there right? We can’t escape it. Death always comes for us. Merlin only knows we’ve tried enough times.” Potter was gasping for air, Draco continued. “You know what I always think about, Potter? I always think about how insignificant we are, how small. We mean nothing in the bigger picture, our actions mean nothing. We are simply a tiny speck living on the edge of the Earth and yet–”

“Draco,” Potter looked like he was having a mini heart attack as he took hold of Draco’s arm and held it tightly, making him stop speaking. Potter was shaking and just looking at him made Draco chuckle, a small smile gracing his lips.

Potter’s eyes flashed at him amusedly before he dropped his head on Draco’s shoulder, laughter bubbling up from his throat. “You’re unbelievable,” Potter said. “You really fucking are.” Draco’s smile widened. This had been his intention.

“Well, it worked, Potter, didn’t it?” Draco brought his mug close to his lips, he smelled victory. There was also the unmistakable and scintillating smell of tea, but a majority of it was victory.

The smile on Potter’s lips softened and he gave Draco a long lingering look. “Yes, it did.”

 

* * *

 

 

 _The Winter Gala._ That had been all anybody had been talking about in the _Daily Prophet_ building. Anywhere he went, anything he did, all he could hear was talk about the Winter Gala. That very one which he hadn’t been invited to, or he had been invited, but then he’d been _un_ invited. It turned out he’d been the only one left out though, because every single person that wasn’t him and worked for the _Daily Prophet_ , had been invited to the Gala this year.

Apparently, the Weasleys were _very_ generous with their invitations. Draco kept his head down and resisted the urge to open up the hundreds and thousands of articles about the Gala that lay sprawled across his desk. Instead, he concentrated on the celebrity he’d been asked to write about, some upcoming Quidditch star.

Draco took one look at him and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t even attractive enough to warrant a full page moving image of him to be quite honest. At least with Potter, there was some potential. He wasn’t a complete lost cause.

As if being able to sense when he was being thought of, the door to Draco’s office was pushed open, and Potter entered through it. Draco stood up so fast, his chair almost fell. “Potter, what are you doing here?”

It was a Monday, their first working day of the week. Draco had a sudden, quick flashback to the way they’d spent the rest of Sunday just lazing around, watching some TV–no James Bond movies, Draco had warned–and ordering in. Pizza wasn’t just popular with Draco’s Slytherin friends, he’d found, the Gryffindors were just as fond of it too.

“I have an idea,” he said, and he had that mischievous look in his eyes. It reminded Draco of all the times he’d seen that look on Potter’s face before something bad had happened to _him_ , specifically.

“No,” Draco said, “absolutely, not, Potter. We are not doing anything you suggest.”

“Why not?” Potter pouted. _He pouted!_ He was an actual five year old. Draco wished someone would show him mercy and not make him handle the antics of this bratty kid.

“What’s your idea?” he asked, and Potter’s eyes lit up.

“I was hoping you’d ask,” he said, and dragged Draco all the way out of his office. Before Draco could even begin to understand what was going on, Potter had pushed his way into Killings’ office.

Draco froze, Killings froze, and Potter looked like he owned the whole goddamn place. _He might as well, at this point of time_ , Draco thought.

“So, you’re Draco’s boss, Mr Killings,” Potter said, and Draco felt a coldness creep up his spine. _No. I told Potter. I told him not to do this, and he agreed. He can’t– he can’t do this. I can’t let him do this._

“Mr Potter, what a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance,” Mr Killings spoke as he coolly rose from his seat. His eyes looked over at Draco before they settled on Potter. Potter smiled at the greeting. He _smiled_ at it, and Draco felt like screaming at him, like asking him what the fuck he thought he was doing.

“I could say the same to you, Mr Killing,” Potter offered just as coolly. Draco watched Potter, stunned as he spoke. “You have quite the reputation in the world of journalism.”

Mr Killings let out a laugh before he said, “Sit down, please. Both of you.” Draco swallowed heavily at the sharpened words meant for him and began to sit.

That was apparently not what Potter had in mind for him though. He could not seem to give Draco a break. “As much as I appreciate your offer, I’m afraid I have to decline,” Potter politely spoke. “I don’t have much time to spare and I’m simply here to talk.”

“Very well, Mr Potter–”

“Auror Potter.”

“Very well, Auror Potter, then I shall let you talk,” Mr Killings said, and Draco looked over at Potter who hadn’t even managed to break a sweat. Draco hated this, he hated what was going on, hated feeling like a victim, hated feeling protected, feeling like someone was willing to put everything on the line for him.

At least in Potter’s case, Draco knew that Potter would have done this for everyone, which was, in a weird way, quite a relief.

“I’ve heard that everyone who works for the _Daily Prophet_ has received an invitation to the Winter Gala, except for Draco, who happens to be the sole writer of the celebrities and events section of your paper. Now I don’t know why he was uninvited, I can assure you that there were no such instructions given from the Weasleys, but I think you can agree that he is the one person who deserves to be there more than any other member of your newspaper. I’m not only saying this because this is an event and his job description practically screams that he should be there, but also because this is a memorial for the Battle. It’s _his right_ to be there.”

Draco was looking at Potter wide-eyed, but Potter did not so much as turn to acknowledge his presence. His eyes were on Killings. “You are right, Mr–ahem– _Auror_ Potter and I understand why you may feel that way, but I am afraid that only a specific amount of invitations were sent to us. Since Mr Malfoy here is a fairly recent member of our newspaper, we were hence forced to take a decision and withdraw Mr Malfoy’s invitation. You do understand, I’m sure, that we cannot lend Mr Malfoy an invitation just because it is his _right_ and he _should_ be there. That would be quite unfair of us, wouldn’t it?”

Draco forced himself to remain calm as his nails dug into his palms. He knew that Killings was lying and he suspected that Potter knew it too. Draco narrowed his eyes at the curving edges of Killings’ lips, and it all came together in his mind. He realised what Killings was trying to do.

Before Potter could say another word, Draco stepped forwards. “I apologise on his behalf. I’m afraid Potter is quite passionate about the subject of the Battle, and he was here solely on the account of him suspecting that I was being treated unfairly. As you know, he is quite the hero, but he was clearly mistaken. We will leave now, and I shall submit my article about the rising Quidditch stars to you on Friday like I am supposed to.”

With that, Draco pushed Potter out of Killings’ office and pulled him towards his own. He was aware of the stares they were getting and of the heat growing on his face. He was also aware of the fact that Potter kept resisting. “Potter–” he hissed and turned around. What would it take for them to, just once, not make a scene in a public setting?

Potter’s wand suddenly buzzed, cutting Draco off.

“Draco, I can’t. I’m sorry, I have to go. Robards is probably waiting on me. Can we talk about this when we get home?” Draco’s thoughts halted at the word ‘home.’ It had such a nice ring to it.

He immediately let go of Potter’s robes. “Yes. I’m sorry. We’ll speak when we’re at…home.”

Potter nodded his head, gave Draco a quick smile and then he was gone, leaving Draco staring after him and wondering why he felt as if a piece of him had left with Potter.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry sat on the sofa stiffly, not being able to concentrate on whatever was playing on the TV. It didn’t work well as a distraction, and the sounds coming from the TV only made him more anxious. He turned off the TV and tried to sit still in the silence. What was taking Draco so long? Was he so mad at Harry that he couldn’t even come home to him? Had Harry really pissed Draco off that much?

He knew that Draco had explicitly stated that he would handle Killings by himself and that he didn’t need Harry to help him, but Harry had wanted to help. He could tell that Draco badly wanted to be a part of the Gala and Harry wanted him to be there. It wasn’t like Harry had gone and threatened Draco’s boss, he had only told Killings that Draco deserved to be there.

Harry had genuinely thought it would work, he hadn’t known that Draco’s boss was a stone cold bastard who refused to budge even an inch. That had been the moment he had realised exactly what Draco had been dealing with for weeks now…or maybe…maybe ever since the war.

That niggling voice at the back of his mind refused to leave him alone and Harry’s fingers found a sofa thread to tangle into. He didn’t get too far into his thoughts though, because the Floo flared up the very next second and a pale blond head appeared through it, followed by the rest of the familiar figure.

Harry was standing up facing him before he could even consciously think of doing it. “Draco,” he spoke, not knowing what else to say.

Draco’s attention immediately turned to him and Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he waited. Harry didn’t know what he was waiting for but Draco’s long and firm strides made something in him shrink up. He was backing away without realising it, but stopped when his legs hit the table behind him. “D-Dra-”

“Did you mean it, Potter?” Draco asked and Harry blinked at him, not hearing anything over the drumming of his own heart. He was shaking a little, palms sweaty, and he didn’t know what he was expecting to happen, but it didn’t. “Did you mean what you said to Killings?” He asked stepping closer.

Harry was lost as he closed his eyes and tried to rid his brain of the images of the Dursleys. This wasn’t them, this was Draco Malfoy. This was different. “Yes,” he spoke quietly, softly and he saw Draco’s eyes turn to liquid.

“You really think I deserve to be at the Gala?” Draco asked and Harry could see the disbelief in Draco’s eyes. Suddenly all thoughts of his childhood were thrown out of the window as Harry realised exactly what was going on.

He stepped forward. “Yes, I do.”

Draco gave him one of those searching looks again, eyes intense and a stormy grey. Then he took a deep breath and nodded his head. “Thank you,” he said and walked away with a smile growing on the edges of his lips.

Harry stood staring at the door that led to Draco’s room for the longest time before he crumpled onto the sofa. “I’m ridiculous,” he said to himself, shaking his head and letting out a burst of relieved laughter. “I am so, so bloody ridiculous.” He shook his head again and smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

He was halfway through cooking dinner when he heard the door to Draco’s room opening. Robards had sent him home early that day, probably because Harry had told him he was feeling under weather and had been puking his guts out in one of the bathroom stalls. But what other reason was Harry supposed to have given about where he had been after lunch and why he’d been so late to reach Robards’ office?

As Harry sighed and turned his attention back to the cooking, he heard a clearing of the throat and saw Draco entering the kitchen. He tried to ignore the little skip his heart made in his chest and said, “Hey.”

“Hello,” Draco responded, “You need any help, Potter?” Draco had done that thing again. He’d loosened his tie, tucked out his shirt and…Harry’s heart momentarily stopped working as he noticed it. Draco’s hair was ruffled.

_‘Your hair looks better like this, Draco, okay? You look better like this, when you aren’t trying too hard to impress other people.’_

It was the truth. Harry couldn’t look away from him. Draco looked–

“Potter,” Draco said a little louder. “Do you need any help?”

Harry pursed his lips. In the span of a few days, Draco had asked Harry this question more times than he’d ever heard it in his life. _‘Can I help you?’ ‘May I help you?’ ‘Do you need any help?’_

Harry responded, “Yes, please.” Draco nodded his head, tossing his tie carelessly over his back. Harry watched it hit the floor and he also watched Draco pull up his sleeves absentmindedly. He was aware that he was supposed to be stirring the food that was sizzling in the frying pan next to him, but why should he have to focus on the food when there were much better things to look at?

His eyes fell onto the Mark, and he didn’t even realise when he’d taken a sharp breath in. Draco, having heard Harry’s change in breathing, paused and looked down to where Harry’s eyes were. His shoulders tensed up when he noticed the Dark Mark, and Harry could tell the exact moment he looked away, shoulders sagging as he pulled down the sleeve to try and cover up the mark.

“Sorry, I–”

Harry stepped towards him, holding his hand to stop the motion. “Don’t,” he breathed out and gently pried Draco’s hand away from his sleeve. He then pulled the sleeve back up again. “It’s not you. The Mark just made me remember the Battle.” He held Draco’s arm up so that he could see the entire Dark Mark and softly brushed his thumb across it.

He felt Draco’s shudder and looked up to see him swallowing heavily. He couldn’t help letting his gaze wander from Draco’s sharp jaw to his throat, down to his neck where his top button was undone again.

“You think I have a right to be there,” Draco said softly, his voice came out husky and a bit rough. “You think I should be there for the Winter Gala.” He spoke as if he still couldn’t believe Harry’s words, despite Harry’s reassurance.

“Yes, I do,” he said again. Neither of them said a word for the next few minutes, just choosing to hear the sounds of their own breaths almost mingling instead of their voices.

“I am pathetic,” Draco said dropping his head and letting his hair fall onto his face, covering it completely. He huffed out a breath, making them fly a little.

A fond smile crossed Harry’s face as he slowly pulled his hand away from Draco’s. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m bloody ridiculous.” That made Draco glanced up at Harry from in between his hair. “I told Robards I’d been puking my guts out in a bathroom stall instead of actually telling him the truth about why I was late to reach the office.”

That made Draco straighten up and look at him, a smile blooming across his lips. “I have to say, Potter, I never knew you were that good at speaking and arguing. Passive-aggressiveness was never quite your style, neither is being polite or calm.”

Harry glared at Draco, but his expressions quickly turned sheepish as he admitted, “I’m not, it’s not. I actually borrowed some of your books on how to give a speech and make persuasive arguments.”

Draco’s mouth dropped open and he stared at Harry, who rubbed at the back of his head. His smile widened as Draco let out a laugh. Draco actually threw his head back and laughed, and just like the time they’d been painting, Harry found himself laughing with him. He just couldn’t help it.

Draco’s laughter was contagious, and it was the best sound Harry had ever heard. He broke off into a smile as he turned back to pay attention to dinner, which was thankfully not burnt yet…it was still cooking.

“If I hadn’t known you as well as I do Potter, I would have actually believed that you’d asked the Weasleys about the invitations and they’d told you about it,” Draco chuckled. Then he noticed Harry’s unchanged expression and suddenly grew concerned. “Wait, you didn’t ask them about it, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” Harry confirmed, and Draco let out a relieved breath.

“Oh, thank Merlin!” Another bout of silence ensued. By now Harry was starting to like these silences, they were starting to feel normal to him, comfortable, natural even.

Just as Harry was about to tell Draco that he could sit instead of helping him, Draco came to stand next to him and casually said, “Potter, may I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” Harry replied, half of his attention on the food.

“When I arrived from work some time ago, you seemed worried, and when I started to walk towards you, you actually seemed scared.” Harry’s pulse started to race, his palms began sweating. He wanted to go back on his words now, wanted to tell Draco to please not ask him this. “What was it that you were scared of, Potter? Was it me? Are you scared of me?”

 

* * *

 

 

Draco stared at the wall ahead of him blankly. He was deep in thought, very, _very_ deep in thought. It was Wednesday. It had been two nights and one whole day since Potter had told him everything, since he’d told Draco about the Dursleys. It had also been that long since he’d last seen Potter.

Draco could still remember the way Potter’s hands had shaken after Draco had asked him the question. Could still remember the hard set of Potter’s shoulders as his whole body had trembled, and when Draco had softly spoken his name, had lightly kept his hand on Potter’s shoulder, he had hear Potter letting out a harsh breath, had seen the fish slice Potter had been holding land onto the frying pan with the clink of metal hitting metal.

Draco hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t wasted any time thinking on it. He had turned Potter around to face him, and it had seemed as if Potter had had the same idea that Draco had had, because he met Draco’s hug halfway.

Potter had sagged into the hug, melted into Draco, and leaned most of his weight into him. So Draco had slid them both down until they were sitting on the floor and hugging each other. Potter hadn’t said a word, his breathing still harsh, body still shaking, chest rising and falling rapidly, and heart beating so loudly that it thudded in Draco’s ears. Draco hadn’t dared to let go of Potter, and Potter didn’t seem to want to let go of him either.

The situation that they had been in had made Draco feel something he had rarely ever felt before, an emotion so strong, an urge so overwhelming that it stole his breath and would’ve swept him off his feet if he’d been standing. Protectiveness. Draco had held Potter tighter against him, wanting to make whatever pain Potter was feeling just go away. It wasn’t right, seeing Potter this way. Potter wasn’t supposed to be this way, and if Draco could just–

Potter had shifted closer to him, had pulled him even closer. His hands had been around Draco’s waist, head slotted somewhere in the region where his shoulder and chest met. Draco’s own hands had been wrapped around Potter’s neck but had slowly slid downwards and had at that moment been soothingly tracing patterns and rubbing circles on his back.

Draco had waited until Potter’s breathing had regulated, and then quietly called his name. Potter’s grip on him had tightened at that and his breathing had hitched, and just as Draco had been rethinking his plan of action, Potter had started to cry. He had sobbed into Draco’s shirt, breath coming out in short gasps as he had spoken.

The sentences had been broken and short, the long-winded ones usually being cut off with a gasp or a sob, but Draco had somehow managed to get the entire story from Potter, coaxing it out of him with soft words and an even softer touch.

The rage that Draco had felt after that had been undeniable and the only thing that had kept Draco right where he had been was Potter, who had been holding onto him as if he was a drowning man and Draco was his float. The Dursleys had been lucky enough to have gone into hiding because if they hadn’t, Draco would’ve surely found them, and then he wouldn’t have been responsible for any of the things he would’ve done to them.

Since that incident though, he had not once seen Potter, who had chosen to eat dinner in his own room and had breakfast earlier than Draco. The only indication Draco had that Potter was in the house, was by the sound of his footsteps, which was all Draco could hear when he silently had his dinner outside on the living room sofa.

He knew Potter was deliberately ignoring him, knew that Potter most probably needed some time and space to process his vulnerability with Draco, to process the fact that Draco _knew_ , but Draco couldn’t stand it anymore. He decided that he would put an end to it today. Today, he would make Potter sit down, make him look Draco in the eyes and make him talk, because a talking Potter, always there, always irritating and annoying Draco with his chittering-chattering was unbearable, but an absent Potter….

Just the thought of it made something quite cold trail up Draco’s spine. He couldn’t ever imagine anything worse than that.

Draco looked up as the door to his office opened, he was still working on the Quidditch Rising Stars article, but it wasn’t important enough to warrant his full attention yet. He was confused when Killings’ secretary told him that he was being summoned.

It should’ve felt like a repeat of Monday, but it didn’t, because no one was dragging him around this time and he didn’t have Potter with him. He couldn’t tell if that was a good or a bad thing.

“Mr Malfoy,” Draco’s hands clenched into fists. “How far along are you with your new article?”

“I’m making progress, sir,” Draco replied.

“Yes, progress,” Draco could hear the disappointment in Killings’ voice and tried to remind himself of why he needed his job. “You see, the reason I wanted to talk to you today is because our newspaper is facing quite the difficulty. You do know of your reputation in the our community, Mr Malfoy, it precedes you, and although I did mention that your hiring was recommended by wizards working in higher positions, they have quite recently been starting to get pressured to re-acknowledge their decision to hire you. This unfortunately means that they have now been trying to influence me to kick you out of the company.”

Draco’s blood turned cold. “What?”

“I am unfortunately telling the truth Mr Malfoy. You do not seem quite keen to work either as you have not given us a single interview of any of the Quidditch stars. You have not communicated any information to me and seem to be satisfied sitting in your office chair all day, dreaming,” Mr Killings said.

Draco stepped forward, gritting his teeth. “That isn’t true at all. I have been working the hardest out of all of the members who work for this newspaper! Ever since you hired me, I have submitted article after article on time and they have all been appreciated. I’m sure the higher ups are just as satisfied with my progress as I am. Also you never mentioned any interviews with any specific Quidditch stars, you simply said that I had to write about them, which is what I am doing.” Draco took a breather.

“Then prove it,” Mr Killings said.

“How?” Draco asked. How could he work any harder than he already did, prove himself any more than he already had?

“I will never complain about you, never say a single word to you. I will treat you equal to, in fact better, than I treat the rest of the _Prophet_ members, just like you deserve. You will never have to worry about getting fired and will get all of the promotions you need. Who knows, you might even surpass me, but you will just have to do one little thing.”

Draco was scared to ask, “What?”

“Mr Potter, are you friends with him?” Killings asked. Draco couldn’t shake away the bad feeling he was getting.

“No,” Draco shook his head. He didn’t know why he was lying, but maybe he wasn’t. He didn’t really know what they were to each other. “He’s just my roommate.”

Killings’ eyes flashed at that, and Draco felt like he had just made a huge mistake. “Even better. All you need to do, is write a weekly article about Mr Potter, telling us something we did not already know. Something big and quite scandalous–information that will make the headline of the front page of our newspaper. You need not worry about invitations or interviews or your articles. You will be invited to the biggest parties, the fanciest balls and the most important events, you will just have to make sure to do this one thing.”

Draco’s insides were frozen. He felt like his internal organs were burning up. He could feel his chest aching with pain, vision blurring and he wanted this so badly but he wouldn’t. He had been forced to make one bad decision in his life, and it had cost him everything. He would not do it again.

“No,” he said. “I can’t”

“Very well then. I’m afraid this is where we must part ways,” Killings said, and he placed a long piece of parchment near Draco’s end of the desk. Draco didn’t have to look at it to know what it was. He stared helplessly at it.

“Surely,” Draco’s voice came out hoarse, and he quickly cleared it. “Surely there must be something else I can do. Anything, _please_.” Draco knew that he was pleading. He was a Malfoy, he mustn’t, but he had to, he was desperate.

“There is nothing else, Mr Malfoy. Thank you. You may leave. Shall I have my secretary clear out your things?” Killings asked.

Draco closed his eyes and remembered. He remembered giving his seventh year exam again at Hogwarts, dreading going back there. He remembered getting his results and smiling because they were perfect. He remembered applying to become an Auror at the Ministry as well as filling in applications for a few different positions he’d be interested in. He had been turned away from all of them. He remembered applying to become a Healer, remembered St. Mungo’s turning him away.

He remembered being young and ambitious and determined, he remembered working hard and trying even harder to get a job that he loved. He was still young, still all the rest of the things, but he was also tired, tired of having to try.

He felt exhausted just thinking about the possibility of having to do the whole process again, of trying to get a new job again, of not knowing whether he would succeed or once again fail, of not knowing how long it would last. He was tired, and he liked doing this job, he wanted to stay, despite Mr Killings, despite the gossipy coworkers and his messy office. He wanted to stay.

He took a deep breath, opened his eyes and looked at Mr Killings. “I shall do this only under one condition–that my name is kept anonymous. Nobody should know about any of this except for you and I. I shall also expect you to fully remember everything you have just promised me. If you fail to deliver even one of your promises, I shall make sure to expose the illegality of our situation, since we both know that out of the two of us, you are the only one who has a reputation left to lose.”

With that, Draco turned heel and strode out of Killings’ office, feeling a spike of satisfaction at having left his boss speechless. It almost helped ease the pain of his extreme betrayal of Potter’s trust that would soon follow.

Draco’s thoughts were a jumbled mess by the time he reached home, so much so that even the knowledge of Potter’s presence could not grab his attention. Potter’s voice, however, could. “Draco,” he said.

After a day of ignoring him, this was the moment Potter had decided to stop. Of course, it was just Draco’s luck. “Potter,” Draco said.

“I wanted to say sorry, for ignoring you yesterday after the– after what happened on Monday. I shouldn’t have done it, I–”

Draco couldn’t do this. He didn’t have time for it, time to pretend and put on his usual façade. It was difficult enough to do in front of Potter in general, but to do it today of all days. He interrupted. “It’s quite alright Potter. You do not have to apologise. I understand. You are forgiven.”

Draco hurried towards his room.

“Wait!” Draco turned around very slowly. “Wait,” Potter said, “There’s something else.”

“What?” Draco asked, breathing in and out, and in, and out.

“I know that you still don’t have the invitation to the Winter Gala, so I asked Ron if they had anymore and he said that they’d sent out all of them in advance. He unfortunately didn’t have any more.” Potter said.

“It doesn’t matter, Potter, I–”

“No,” Potter said, and Draco stopped trying to run away and actually looked at him. Potter had wild energy buzzing around him, and it seemed to surround him in a way, to physically become him. His hair seemed messier and more tangled, his eyes a deep, dark jungle-green, his face bright and smile wide, dimples showing at their fullest.

It was all too much to handle, Draco’s brain seemed to have stopped functioning. Now not only was his heart and brain a jumbled mess, his body seemed to react as such too, making heat flood to Draco’s nether regions. Draco smoothly stepped back and leaned against the counter, not wanting to be in close contact with Potter or Potter’s body. No bodily contact for Draco, thank you very much.

“You’re coming with me,” Potter said, and Draco didn’t really understand what he was saying until Potter expanded on it. “Every invitation for the Gala also has a plus one on it. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier, but you could be my plus one!”

Potter looked excited and Draco felt like a horrible person. The urge to go back to Killings and take the piece of parchment he’d offered, the temptation to leave his job, scratched on the insides of his wall, but he couldn’t. “You want me to be your plus one?”

“Of course! Who else am I going to take? Ginny’s gone for her tour and even if she was here, she’d have an invitation too. Everyone does. So, what do you say Draco, will you be my plus one?”

_‘All you need to do, is write a weekly article about Mr Potter, telling us something we did not already know. Something big and quite scandalous–information that will make the headline of the front page of our newspaper.’_

“Yes, of course.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Winter Gala. Draco had years, no, a lifetime of experience when it came to attending these seasonal galas. He’d had suits and robes and every piece of clothing properly lined up two days in advance, so he could not comprehend how he could wake up to Potter trying on a few of his _already worn_ robes on Saturday morning. The Gala was taking place that evening.

Draco sat on the kitchen counter with his legs crossed and a mug held in between both his hands. He was quietly sipping on his tea as Potter tried on different degrees of tattered robes and tried to pretend as if there were even a slight chance of him wearing any of those atrocities to the gala.

It was personally quite entertaining for Draco. The robes display came a close second to Potter’s previous suit and tie display, and probably a rattling third to his upcoming display of shoes. He knew that it was his turn to finally intervene when Potter wore the most ridiculous looking robes and seemed as if he were _actually considering_ wearing them to the gala.

Draco sighed and put his mug down on the countertop, sliding off of it to lean against it. “Potter, what are you wearing?”

“Oh, these robes, you mean? Ginny gifted them to me. You think I should wear these to the Gala?” Potter asked, looking quite pleased as he checked himself in the full length mirror.

“Potter!” Draco couldn’t help sounding downright _horrified_ at Potter’s response. “Those are Quidditch robes,” he stated.

Potter simply shrugged. “Yeah, so,” he asked.

“Alright, that is it.” Draco had had enough. “It’s time for you, Potter, to try looking a bit classier. This is a seasonal gala, not a house party, you cannot wear whatever you like. You have to wear something that other people will like.” Draco had been pushing Potter in the direction of his own room and with these last words, he opened the door and practically threw Potter inside it.

They both went into the walk in closet and Draco pointed to the multiple robes he had on display. “Choose,” he said.

Potter looked as if he were about to laugh, but one look at Draco’s expressions had him reconsidering it. “You’re serious?” he asked and when Draco nodded his head, looked back over at the collection of robes. “But these look…good, really, really good, and very, very expensive!”

“Yes, Potter, they are,” Draco snipped impatiently. “So what’s the problem?”

“Nothing. I just– are you sure you want me wearing these?” Potter hesitantly asked. Draco watched him reach out and touch the robes. He seemed to like them, so Draco didn’t understand why Potter was acting as if he were touching a forbidden fruit. He didn’t understand Potter’s question until he remembered what Potter had told him about his relatives, and then he understood.

“Yes, Potter. I want you to wear these.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was almost mid-afternoon by the time Harry’s outfit for the gala was finally decided upon. They’d had a quick lunch of a homemade burger, where Draco had popped up in between to help Harry where he could, and then they’d eagerly gone back to doing their previous task, both their minds stuck on how much time they still had left until the gala began.

Before they knew it, it was time. Draco emerged from his room wearing a suit and tie that must surely be custom made, and robes that _definitely_ were. His robes were a dark shade of navy blue that somehow moved with Draco as if they were one with him and his suit was a grey colour, worn over a regular white shirt and a burgundy tie.

Draco wore the outfit like no one else would have been able to. He pulled it off and made it somehow seem as if the outfit had been specially made and tailored for him alone. Harry would’ve believed that if he hadn’t seen photos of that outfit in multiple separate magazines. He hadn’t seen this exact combination of course, just parts of it, but just enough to _know_.

His own suit was a dark-green colour with a black tie and a regular white shirt just like Draco’s. Draco had insisted his robes be deep black just like his tie, and Harry hadn’t known why but he’d agreed to it. From the way Draco had nodded in approval at the way Harry had looked, Harry guessed he wasn’t going to be looking half-bad at the Gala.

He wondered if he was going to be able to take his eyes off of Draco for long enough to be able to spare anyone else even a single glance. He didn’t think he’d want to look at anyone but him. Draco, with his confident swagger and slight tilt of the lips, with his hair combed back properly and his eyes shining, was a sight to behold, and he knew it.

Draco’s eyes met Harry’s where he was standing, hip against the side of the sofa and he smiled. Harry could feel his cheeks heating up and as that smile turned into a smirk, the heat took an unexpected downwards direction. Harry wasn’t going to lie and say that he’d experienced it for the first time when it came to Draco, but this time it was quite intense in nature, the burn quite hard to control.

“Shall we, Potter?” Draco asked, offering Harry his arm.

Harry smiled, looping his own into it. “It would be my pleasure, Draco.”

 

* * *

 

 

They were back home from the Gala and Harry suspected that Draco was completely drunk on wine.

The Winter Gala had started off, quite naturally, with everyone crowding around Harry, although a little hesitantly this time around. All questions, instead of being aimed around his and Ginny’s relationship and their potential breakup, were aimed at his _‘budding relationship’_ with his plus one.

Draco had snorted, rolled his eyes and declared that he was off to go get himself a glass of wine, leaving Harry to fend for himself. Harry had wished in that moment that he’d had the common sense to read more of those books to ‘increase one’s speaking skills’ as Draco had put it. But he had apparently read enough to be able to dodge any unwanted questions without much difficulty, and although he had revealed that Draco had become his roommate exactly a week ago, he had managed to keep the news of his engagement hidden.

Ginny and him had decided not to wear their engagement rings until Ginny came back from her Tour and they made an official announcement of their marriage. Harry had spent the rest of the night with his family and friends, ignoring the voice in his head that had told him he should be with someone else instead. His eyes hadn’t left Draco, who had been walking around and chatting with every single person there.

He had seemed as bright, active and full of charm, enthusiasm and energy near the end of the night as he had during the beginning of it. Harry didn’t know how he’d managed it and how he had managed to go around and have time to talk to everyone. One thing he hadn’t kept count of, which Harry clearly should’ve, was the amount of wine Draco had been drinking.

He hadn’t even had food by the time he’d finally made his way to the Weasleys. “I must say, Mr and Mrs Weasley, this gala is quite the event. I am extremely impressed with the effort that you all must have gone through to make this evening such a success.”

There had been a moment where everyone had held their breaths and then–

“You’re welcome, Malfoy,” Ron had said. “Never thought I’d hear those words coming out of your mouth, but I’m always up to accepting a compliment. I’d also be up to playing a game of chess sometime if you wanted to.”

–the collective sound of breaths being let out.

“I’ll accept your offer for the chance to beat you at chess, Weasley,” Draco had said, and they’d shaken hands.

“We’ll see about that, Malfoy. I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you.”

“Well you aren’t me, are you?”

Before Ron and Draco’s temporary illusion of companionship could have been shattered, Molly had quickly cut in. “Thank you, Draco, dear. We used to enjoy it just as much when you were in charge of taking care of the event.”

“Yes, I agree,” Arthur had added, to everyone’s surprise. “I’m not embarrassed to admit that I took a lot of inspiration from your ideas for the event.”

Draco had smiled, tightly according to Harry, and drunk the rest of his wine. “I’m glad to hear that,” he’d said, but he hadn’t been. Harry could tell. The slightly relaxed posture when he’d been talking to Ron had become tensed, and Harry hadn’t been able to tell whether it had changed because of the people he’d been talking to or the subject they’d been talking about.

“Draco,” he had cut in and everyone’s attention had turned to him. Harry had kept his eyes on Draco. “Have you eaten any food yet?” Draco had shaken his head and shifted his focus to the empty glass of wine in his hands.

Harry had been about to offer to go get food with him but Fleur had beaten him to it, asking if he was as hungry as she felt and sharing a joke in French before whisking him off to the place where the food had been kept after Draco had nodded.

Hermione, Harry had noticed, had been extremely quiet and when he’d asked her why, she’d just said, “Draco. He’s very different now isn’t he?”

Harry had looked at her quizzically. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘Mione, he’s the same git he’s always been.”

After Draco and Fleur had come back to them, having had their food, Harry had bid everyone farewell, and Draco and Harry made their exit as inconspicuously as they could have. Draco hadn’t seemed drunk when they’d left but here he was now, draping himself drunkenly against the sofa.

“C’mere, Potter,” Draco said calling him over. Harry went over to the sofa, ready to sit gingerly on the edge of it but apparently, he didn’t need to. Draco sat up and shuffled away from Harry to give him some space. Harry wouldn’t have minded Draco draping himself all over _his_ body. “Arrgghh,” Draco angrily pulled at his tie. “S’chokin’ me. Sss’killin’ me.”

Harry hid his smile as he gently pulled the tie from Draco’s grasp and undid it. “There you go,” he said. “You overdramatic idiot.”

“Potter,” Draco said, emphasizing the ‘p’ and the ‘t’s “Pottah. Pootaahh.”

“What are you doing, Draco?” Harry asked tiredly, the smile refused to leave his face.

“Your name is weird…Pottah,” Draco said, looking at him now. He was facing Harry.

“Potter’s not my name, Draco,” he said, “Harry is.”

“That sounds even weirder,” Draco said, and then he giggled. _He giggled_. Harry was done for because Draco’s giggle sounded even better than his laughter. Suddenly, Draco stopped giggling and a serious expression crossed his face. “You know what I think a lot about, Potter?”

Harry shook his head, a little worried but also curious about the direction this conversation was taking. “What, Draco.”

Draco’s expressions turned even more serious, but this time, there was a vulnerability to them that Harry couldn’t describe. “The inevitability of death.” Harry froze. “I mean, it’s there right? We can’t escape it. Death always comes for us.” Harry stared wide-eyed at Draco as he spoke. “Merlin only knows we’ve tried enough times. You know what I always think about, Potter? I always think about how insignificant we are, how small. We mean nothing in the bigger picture, our actions mean nothing. We are simply a tiny speck living on the edge of the Earth and yet–”

Harry swallowed heavily. These words Draco had just spoken were the exact ones he’d said almost a week ago. On Sunday morning, when he’d surprised Harry with breakfast, and joked about this, Harry had laughed along with him, thinking that was all it was. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

“You know what scares me, Potter? What if– what if I die and no one remembers me? What if...what if I stay just another nobody? What if everyone still hates me because– because–”

 _“Draco,”_ Harry said, forcing the word out of his throat, letting his own emotions show at the pain Draco seemed to be suffering. He hated this. “You’re not– Nobody hates you. I don’t…I don’t.”

Draco barked out a harsh laugh. “Don’t lie to me Potter. I hate that. You know what else I hate…who else I hate, except for myself that is?” Draco didn’t wait for a response, he continued, and Harry watched him through his blurry vision. He wanted to reach out and comfort Draco. He wanted to tell him how wrong he was, but Harry couldn’t seem to speak, he couldn’t move.

“I hate you,” Draco said and Harry felt like Draco had punched him straight in his heart, like it was being ripped apart. “I hate that you have to be so nice and kind and forgiving all the time. I hate that– I hate that you’re so friendly and likeable. I hate that I don’t hate you. I like you, Potter. I really, really like you.” Harry felt like he’d been punched in the heart again, but his heart had sewn itself back together now and was beating faster.

“I– I really, really like you too, Draco,” Harry hoarsely whispered. “And you’re wrong, about everything.” Harry dared to reach out to Draco, to shuffle closer and gently trail his fingers down Draco’s cheek. “You’re…you’re important to me, and I care…I will care if you die.” Harry’s hand slowly cupped Draco’s cheek and traced a thumb over his cheekbones. His breath hitched in his throat as he saw Draco’s eyes closing, lashes barely touching his cheeks, and his hot breath mixing with Harry’s. “I…you’re not insignificant, Draco, you–you’re larger than life, you’re loud and you complain a lot and you’re so–you make me so angry, but…but I like you, and I don’t think anybody could ever forget you. I don’t think I would survive if you died just yet. So I’m going to need you to stay with me okay? Will you stay with me, Draco?”

Draco seemed to have fallen asleep sitting up, his face now completely held in Harry’s hands who was cupping both Draco’s cheeks, letting his thumbs brush across both of them. He watched in fascination as Draco’s skin reddened wherever Harry’s fingers touched it. He startled as Draco’s lips parted and he let out another hot breath of air, suddenly becoming aware of how close they were. He didn’t move. “Yes, Potter. I’ll stay with you,” Draco murmured, sleepily.

Harry felt a warmth like he had never experienced before spreading through him, making his insides melt, making him want to scream and laugh and kiss the boy in front of him with joy. He paused at that thought. No, _no_ , Harry didn’t want to _kiss_ him. He was probably wine drunk as well. That explained why he would feel that way, like he was drunk on Draco.

“Alright, come on, get up,” Harry said. He didn’t want Draco falling asleep on their sofa and he didn’t want to be sleeping anywhere near it either. “Draco!”

Draco groaned as Harry pulled him up, moaning and stumbling and putting most of his weight _on Harry_ as they walked to Draco’s room. Harry had no idea how they reached Draco’s bed, managing to dodge the piano successfully, and he plopped Draco down onto it, but they did. Harry carefully kept the pillow under his head and covered him in his thick duvet, taking a second to just look at him before instinctively reaching forward to kiss his cheek lightly.

“Goodnight, Draco,” he said and got up, ready to walk away, but Draco grabbed a hold of his wrist before he could.

Harry turned to look at Draco, his sleepy eyes were drawn into grey slits. “Jus’ one las’ thin’ Potta’ ‘fore yu’ go.”

He pulled at Harry’s wrist, making Harry sit down on the edge of the bed next to him, the bossy, stubborn prat who refused to go to sleep. “What is it, Draco?” Harry sighed.

“Is it worth it? Is it worth losing out on loving someone because you’re scared you’ll never be loved, scared you don’t deserve to be loved?”

Grey eyes shuttered close, hands stifled a yawn and Draco was asleep in minutes, leaving Harry with his words eating at his brain.

 

* * *

 

 

The doorbell rang. Harry groaned and hid his face deeper into his pillow. He was half-lulled back to sleep, body slowly relaxing, when it rang again.

“Potter!” An irritating, prissy voice called from somewhere. “Potter, open the door!”

“Why don’t you do it then?” Harry shouted. “Why don’t you open the fucking door?”

“Because I’m sleeping!” Draco exclaimed. “And it’s probably one of your friends, the Weasleys I bet, come here to tell you what a great delight it was to have me as your plus one.”

The bell rang again.

“I’m sleeping too, you stupid fucker!” Harry threw his hands up even as he got off of the bed. “And why do you think it won’t be one of your friends?” His voice rose an octave as he opened the door to his room.

“Cause my friends aren’t uncivilised apes, Potter! They would call before they came, and they’d use the Floo,” Draco grumbled, his voice reached Harry sounding loud and muffled.

Harry snickered as he remembered that Draco had been hammered on wine, but then realised that what Draco had just said was _right_ , and his mood turned grumpy again. He wasn’t going to agree with Draco this time, Harry thought as he padded across the living room.

As the doorbell rang again, Harry quickly crossed the distance to the door and pulled it open. What he saw promptly made him freeze on the spot.

 

* * *

 

 

Just as Draco was finally sure that he’d be getting a few more hours of sleep to dull down the pounding in his head, he was woken up again. “Draco!”

He grumbled at Potter, sliding to the edge of his bed and almost falling off of it in an attempt to get up.

“Draco, you need to get here _now!_ ” Draco was not happy. Having had a near-death experience was not a good start to his morning. “Draco!”

“I’m coming, Potter! Would you just shut the fuck up for a second?!” Draco stormed out of his room, pushing his hands desperately through his horrible mess of hair. Then he saw the panicked expression on Potter’s face and his pace slowed. “What is it?” he asked.

“Draco,” Potter breathed, and Draco was worried now.

He had closed the distance between them before he’d even realised it. “Potter,” he spoke softly. “What is it?”

Potter simply pointed at the open door. Draco blinked as his mind tried to register what he saw, not really wanting to believe it.

At the entrance to their home, on their very doorstep, was a basket with white cushions and a pillow, and placed in the middle of all of that cosiness, wrapped up in a soft, white blanket, was a baby. _A baby._

Both Draco and Potter stared at it, and it must’ve been able to sense them, because the baby started crying. Draco quickly acted, leaning down and with all the ease and practice of an expert, and held the baby in his arms.

“Hey,” he spoke quietly to the baby, who looked at him with wide eyes. “Ssshhh. Sshhh. It’s alright now. Everything’s okay.” Draco turned away from the door and walked inside, spotting Potter, who had taken a hold of the basket, close the door behind him.

The baby stopped crying as Draco bounced it lightly in his arms. “You’re fine,” he said to the baby. “You’re going to be fine.”

 

* * *

 

 

Harry wasn’t fine. There was a baby in their house, and Draco was holding it, whispering soft, murmured words as if the baby could understand what he was saying, and Harry felt– he felt...he felt.

“Potter, what was your baby doing at our doorstep?” Harry looked at Draco, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“ _My_ baby?!”  Harry exclaimed. “This isn’t _my_ baby.”

Draco’s gaze shifted over to him. He was swinging the baby gently from one side to the other, the baby blinking and looking up at Draco as if he were everything. Harry scowled and turned his attention back to Draco.

“Are you sure, Potter?” Draco asked with his usual drawl. “Are you sure this wasn’t a result of some drunken mistake? Is there something you have to tell She-Weasley?”

“What–? Draco, no! I– we–” Harry paused for a second, noticing the smile playing on Draco’s lips and the light reddening of his cheeks. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

Draco laughed, shaking and making the baby shake with him. It started crying again. Harry sent it an annoyed look. “Shh…shhh…it’s okay…it’s okay,” Draco said to the baby, before turning back to Harry. “Of course I’m messing with you, Potter. At the rate you and She-Weasley are going, I doubt you’ve even kissed her yet.”

Harry was turning redder by the second, not saying a word as he chose to look down at their kitchen countertop. Draco’s smug smirk transformed into a look of disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“What? No, we have kissed, of course,” Harry said, but they were both waiting for the ‘but’. He sighed, “But we’ve never…done anything else.”

Draco nodded his head, not looking at all surprised. “I suspected as much,” he said. He looked down at the baby in his hands, they both did. “I’m hoping whoever left this, just had the wrong address, but in case they didn’t, what are we going to do about this?”

Harry leaned forwards and looked at the baby. It turned its tiny head a little and looked back and then blinked. “I could take it to the Ministry tomorrow, ask them if they can trace the parents of the baby, find out who it belongs to, and hopefully I can keep it there,” Harry suggested.

“You want to keep a baby at the Ministry with a bunch of strangers, Potter?” Draco asked, disapproval clearly showing on his face.

“Well, what else can we do? We can’t keep it,” Harry said. He looked at the baby again. It was still looking at him. It blinked.

Harry could see the contemplative look on Draco’s face and a feeling of dread creeped up on him. “Draco, _no!_ ”

“I’m not thinking of keeping it, Potter. Not forever. Just until we find out more about its parents,” Draco said. His featured softened as he looked at the baby. Harry hated that, he hated it, he hated this whole situation.

“I don’t think we should. I’ll go give it to the Ministry tomorrow, they’ll know what to do with it.” Draco seemed as if he was going to protest, but he stopped himself and nodded his head, his eyes on the baby. Harry hated it.

“You know,” Draco said, and Harry cut off his staring contest with the baby to glance up at Draco. “Instead of just staring at the baby, you could help.” Draco’s tone seemed suggestive, but the look in his eyes told Harry that it was an order.

“I would,” Harry said, stepping closer and sparing a glance at the baby. “But I don’t know how.”

“You don’t know how to help with the baby?” Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry. He was still swinging the baby around, and the baby seemed to be slowly, but surely, falling asleep.

Harry rubbed the back of his head and gave an awkward laugh. “No, I, um, don’t. I’ve never actually had to before. Ever.” He had never even held a baby before, and now his heart pounded just at the thought of it. Harry could see something shifting in Draco’s features, hardening them as soon as Harry’s words sank in, and Harry somehow knew that Draco was thinking about Harry’s childhood.

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat as he looked down at the baby. “I don’t think we need to worry too much about the baby right now, but when it wakes up….” Draco paused and continued staring at the baby, before he looked up and said, “Do you know someone who could help us with this? We need help.”

Harry watched the baby as it yawned, its tiny hands moving slightly as it shifted in Draco’s arms, leaning more towards him. Draco loosened his grip a little and held the baby closer to his chest. Harry didn’t think he’d ever been as aware of the fact that he had a heart as he was right then.

“Molly,” Harry said the first name that came to his mind, “and the rest of the Weasleys too, but I don’t think they’ll be able to come. They’re probably busy removing the decorations from the gala and cleaning up the backyard. Don’t you have someone you can call?”

Draco shifted slightly at Harry’s words, adjusting the bundle in his hands. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of it, and Harry suddenly had an undeniable urge to hold the baby. “Can I hold it?” Harry asked, making Draco look up at him.

They were still standing near the kitchen counter, leaning against it, and Harry wished that they would just sit down so that it would stop the erratic beating of his heart and the feeling of panic tearing at its edges.  

“Yes,” Draco said, pushing off of the counter and walking towards Harry. He stood right beside him, closer than he usually did and held out the sleepy bundle. “Here.”

Harry’s hands shook as he reached out. He had so many questions, so many reasons why he shouldn’t hold the baby. What if it woke up? What if it fell from his hands? What if the baby pooped or peed on him?

All of these doubts faded from his mind once he touched the bundle. He stepped even closer to Draco as Draco handed the baby over to him, and Harry could feel a weight settling in his heart, heavier than the one sinking in his stomach. He looked at the baby, finally allowing the overload of emotions he’d been trying to keep at bay to flood him over.

The baby looked so fragile, so tiny, so delicate and breakable, and Harry felt a familiar emotion wash over him. Protectiveness, and that urgent need to keep the little bundle in his arms safe from all harm.

“Can we– could we sit on the sofa?” Harry whispered softly. He breathed it against Draco’s neck, near his ear, which was so close to Harry that he could reach out and lick it. Not that he would, of course.

He felt rather than saw Draco nod his head, his hands under Harry’s, still holding the baby as a precaution. They slowly shuffled towards the sofa, and Draco let go, letting his hands drop to his sides, as they began to sit down.

“I do have someone I can call,” Draco said quietly, “but I don't think you'll like who I call.”

Harry blinked up at him, tearing his eyes away from the sleeping baby. “Who is it? I don't mind if you call over your Slytherin friends. I'm sure we'll be able to get along, or we can at least try.”

“I'm not talking about my Slytherin friends, Potter. I'm talking about my mother and father,” Draco said, and Harry could feel his jaw locking up, could feel the tension in his muscles.

He wasn't the only one who could, however, because the next second, the baby woke up and suddenly started to cry. Harry stared at it, frozen and terrified, until Draco took the baby from him and stood up.

He softly bounced the baby in his arms, speaking to it in a quiet, reassuring manner, as if the baby could understand him. Harry highly doubted it could, but he still kept staring at Draco and the baby.

“How do you know how to do that?” Harry asked. He also found himself standing up, wanting to do something to help Draco.

“To do what? Oh, take care of the baby, you mean?” Draco responded, his attention mostly on the baby in his arms. Harry nodded.

The baby was now cooing at Draco, shaking its tiny arms and legs. Draco walked over to sit down again, and Harry followed the motion. He had a small smile on his face as he kept the baby carefully on his lap and let it hold a finger in each of its tiny hands.

A small gurgling sound left the baby, making Draco's smile widen. Harry didn't know where to look, at the baby or at the man sitting in front of him, taking care of it.

“When I was a small child, we used to visit people and places with babies. If we knew the people, they'd let us hold them. I would want a turn first, and only after I was done, would I let Father and Mother hold them too. If it was someone we did not know, I would simply watch them or play with them.” Draco explained.

Harry was surprised at how silent the baby had been so far. It was now holding onto Draco's shirt with one hand and pulling at his sleeve with another. Draco rolled his eyes at the baby, using a thumb to wipe the drool off of its chin before tickling its toes.

 The baby giggled, making Draco chuckle. “That's right,” he said.

“You're so good with them,” Harry heard himself saying. He could hear it in his own voice, the wonder and the awe. “How are you so good with them?”

Draco pursed his lips in thought. “Just practice and patience, Potter, the usual,” he said. “I also watched and learned from my parents.”

 _His parents._ Harry thought about Lucius, who had almost killed him when he'd been a child. He thought about Narcissa, who had unexpectedly saved his life. _For family._ Draco had been willing to kill Dumbledore for family, or he'd at least been willing to try.

“Why don't you want to get married?” Harry suddenly asked him, and Draco looked up startled.

“What?”

“You heard me, Draco. You're so good with kids, and you care about them. Why don't you want a family? Why do you not want to get married?” Harry asked.

He could see the minute Draco's eyes hardened, could count the exact number of seconds it took for him to put up his mask of indifference. “I never said that to you, Potter, you just assumed that it was what I wanted.”

Harry almost snorted. The baby lay forgotten on Draco's lap, his arms still wrapped protectively around it, and it seemed satisfied with chewing on one of its hands and drooling on Draco's trousers.

“You might think that I don't know things or that I'm not aware of them Draco, but that doesn't make it true. I may have been in Auror training, but I wasn't cut off from civilisation. I read the newspapers, I heard the gossip and the rumours, and I knew enough about you to know which ones to believe in and which ones not to.”

Harry seemed to have rendered Draco speechless, until he looked down and sighed.

“I know that pure-bloods are often pressured to marry after they come of age,” Harry added, using Hermione's words rather than his own, to give Draco an extra nudge. It worked.

“Mother and Father would never force me to marry someone,” Draco spoke sharply. As if being able to sense Draco's distress, the baby cooed again and reached out a tiny hand towards his face.

Draco smiled and took a hold of the baby's hand, kissing it lightly. Harry wished he could do the same action and get the same reaction. He wished he were a baby– _the_ baby.

Harry blinked and then shook his head at his own bloody ridiculousness.

His eyes latched onto Draco's lips when he saw that Draco was about to speak. “It's not what you think, Potter. I don't… I'm not saying no to marriage and having a family and kids because– because I hate it. I don't.”

“Then what's the reason?” Harry asked shifting forward, ready to give Draco comfort if he needed any.

“I can't,” Draco replied softly. “I can't tell you.” Harry saw him swallowing heavily. “Last night. I already– I've told you enough.”

Draco wouldn't look at him, choosing to look down at the baby playing with his fingers instead. The corners of his lips were upturned.

Harry wished he could make Draco as happy as that baby had seemed to in such a short amount of time, and then he wondered what was wrong with him and why he was getting competitive with a baby.

_‘I'm not talking about my Slytherin friends, Potter. I'm talking about Mother and Father.’_

_‘I also watched and learned from my parents.’_

_For family._

Harry took a deep breath. “You can call them over.” Draco glanced up at him questioningly. “Your mother and father, you can call them over for help.”

 

* * *

 

 

Draco welcomed his parents into his home, standing next to the Floo as they emerged from it. “Mother. Father.”

Harry was surprised to note that he hugged them both without a hint of hesitation. Narcissa touched Draco's shoulder to talk to him as Lucius seemed to look around the house. He momentarily stilled when he spotted Harry sitting on the sofa.

The baby was kept in Draco's room, on his bed, for now, where it was sleeping quite deeply and peacefully.

“Draco, you said that you called us here for a matter of high urgency. What has happened?” Narcissa asked.

Draco simply said, “Let me show you.” He met Harry's eyes before ushering his parents towards his room. Harry went to promptly stand next to him, his feelings of nervousness increasing.

“Mr Potter,” Narcissa greeted him. “It is nice to see you again.”

“You too, Mrs Malfoy.” Harry replied.

“Narcissa. Call me Narcissa,” she said.

“Narcissa.” Harry nodded his head and said, “You can call me Harry”

As Harry walked with Narcissa, Lucius walked with Draco, and Harry saw that although there was an unspoken tension between the two of them, they didn't seem uncomfortable with one another, if anything they seemed more relaxed than Harry had ever seen either of them.

“Did you get Mr Fillianders to do the interior?” Lucius asked Draco.

Draco nodded his head, “I quite liked the changes he'd made to the Manor.” He spoke clearly and freely, looking Lucius in his eyes.

“Ah, yes,” Lucius agreed, “he is a very talented man, quite skilled in his profession.” His lips twitched upwards, and Harry saw Draco responding to his father with a full smile as he agreed with him. “He isn't the only one.”

Draco’s eyes widened as he momentarily stilled, even Harry paused his step, a feeling of disbelief washing over him. He’d never heard such a blatant yet indirect show of affection. Draco seemed to be lost for words, and after a long moment, where Lucius patiently awaited his response, he nodded and said, “Thank you, Father,” his breathing short and voice hoarse.

“Now, what is this matter of urgency?” Lucius asked. They had all stopped in front of Draco’s room and were now looking at him. Draco took a deep breath and opened the door to it.

Harry held his breath, not knowing what reactions he could expect from Draco’s parents. Even Draco seemed a bit nervous and worried.

“Draco,” Narcissa was the first to speak up, she looked surprised. Lucius seemed to be too stunned to comment. “Is that a baby?” she asked.

“Yes,” Draco said, “We found it at our doorstep and don’t yet know whose it is.”

Narcissa and Lucius had taken cautious steps towards Draco’s bed and as Narcissa gently sat down next to the baby, she managed to wake it up. The baby looked up, it’s wide eyes latching onto Lucius who was towering over the bed unsurely and then Narcissa, who shifted closer to him, and then it started to cry.

“Da!” All eyes were on Draco again as the baby tried to visibly reach its tiny hands and legs towards Draco. It seemed to have chosen a favourite.

Draco rolled his eyes and took the baby in his arms with what seemed like a fond smile. “Hey there.” The baby immediately stopped crying. “Who’s Da?” Draco asked softly, as Lucius, Narcissa and Harry looked on. “Is that me?”

The baby cooed and, as if answering his question, said, “Da!” again.

“So it is me then,” Draco said with a chuckle, slowly swinging the baby from side to side. “I’m Da!” Draco reached down to bump his nose lightly against the baby’s and it let out a sweet giggle. Harry was thankful that he wasn’t expected to or meant to be speaking, because he wanted to be doing nothing else other than observe Draco with the baby.

Although the baby itself was a sight for sore eyes, Draco seemed to be the one Harry’s eyes needed to hone in on. The lightness of his features, the softness of his eyes, the beautiful smile on his lips.

Narcissa smiled as she got up and went to stand next to Draco, her eyes on the baby.

“The baby seems to like you,” Lucius said, putting his hand on Draco’s shoulder, and Harry was surprised to see the slight shift in Draco’s posture. He stood a little straighter, held his head a little higher and seemed more confident, as if Lucius’ simple words and the supportive hand on his shoulder were enough to make Draco feel that way.

Draco had turned to face his father as well, his feet, his body and his face all turned towards Lucius, and he was leaning into the touch, thoughtlessly. It was all subconscious, Harry could tell, Draco didn’t even have to think about the movement, it was completely reflexive. Harry felt a pang of jealousy overcome him as he wished he could’ve had that luxury. He still had to think twice before he hugged Molly and at least five times before he hugged Arthur.

“Do you want to hold it Father?” Draco asked. Harry looked at the happy, smiley baby in Draco’s arms and his heart melted. _I want this_ , he thought to himself. _I want a family_.

“It would be my pleasure,” Lucius said as he took the baby into his arms, and to Harry’s immense surprise, the baby only giggled and cooed again, prompting Lucius, _Lucius Malfoy_ , to smile. “Hello there.” Lucius said, his voice seeming milder than usual. The baby giggled again.

“It seems to like you too, love,” Narcissa said, leaning over to speak to Lucius and laying her hand on the small of Draco’s back.

Lucius nodded his head and looked down at the baby. Harry had never felt as much of an outsider as he did in that moment, had never craved the idea of a family and of having someone, as he did right then.

“Do you want to hold it too, Mother?” Draco asked, and when his mother answered with an affirmative, he carefully took the baby from his father’s hands and gave it to his mother to hold.

The realisation came to Harry all of a sudden, that according to all of their interactions, Draco seemed to be much closer to his father than he was to his mother. His father’s approval and words clearly meant a lot to him, and so did the soft, loving gestures that Harry hadn’t even known Lucius to be capable of displaying.

The baby was being sprinkled with attention from all three of the Malfoys and it seemed to be enjoying it if the flailing of its limb was any indication.

Before Harry’s bitterness and jealousy could get the best of him, he saw Draco turn around and motion for him to come over. “What are you staring at, Potter? Help with holding the baby while I tell mother and father why I called them over, will you?”

Harry felt warmth fill him up as he walked over to Draco, knowing that Draco didn’t actually need him or his help. He put his hand through his hair as he approached Draco, heart almost skipping a beat as Narcissa moved to the side and handed the baby over to him. He couldn’t describe the feelings he felt as the baby reached out and pressed one tiny hand to his chest. He only knew that in that moment, he forgot how to breathe and form words.

He wasn’t aware of anything else except for the tiny hand on his chest, feeling all of the warmth flooding to that one area. His heart was about to burst because he couldn’t comprehend his own emotions. That was until he felt the press of a few fingers on his back and looked over to Draco who gave him such a soft, sweet smile that Harry almost forgot about the baby in his hands as some more unrecognisable emotions passed through him.

The smile Draco gave him seemed almost private, as if meant purely for him, as if his mother and father weren’t standing right next to them both, as if they couldn’t see the both of them. Maybe they could, maybe they couldn’t, but Harry wouldn’t have known since he was only aware of the weight of the baby in his hands and the press of the fingers at the centre of his back.

As Harry looked back down at the baby, his thoughts momentarily turned to Ginny. Ginny, who was touring the world with the Holyhead Harpies. He imagined her holding a baby, softly smiling and speaking to it, laughing along as it giggled. He was going to marry her and have a family of his own. He imagined this scene playing out in front of him with her, and wondered why he didn’t feel anything anymore.

He wondered why all he felt was a deep bottomless pit in his stomach and an empty void in his heart. Then he remembered Draco’s words from the night before.

_‘Is it worth it? Is it worth losing out on loving someone because you’re scared you’ll never be loved, scared you don’t deserve to be loved?’_

And then he remembered his own–

_‘Tell me, Draco. Is it better to love someone or is it better to be loved by someone?’_

–and wondered if perhaps he should’ve asked Ginny out on a date before having asked her to marry him.

 

* * *

 

 

Unlike Draco’s prediction, the baby’s cries weren’t the first thing to wake him up in the morning; it was an owl knocking its beak on the door to his balcony. Draco groaned as he got up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Sleep was forgotten though, when he opened the door and the owl swooped in, leaving a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in Draco’s hands. They trembled.

He looked at the baby, who he had transfigured a temporary cradle for and who was miraculously still fast asleep, before he walked out of his room and over to the kitchen, dropping the newspaper on the counter carelessly. He was aware that the owl had followed him inside and was now circling his head. Draco sighed and gave it a few owl treats he had put in one of the labeled drawers.

He leaned forward and closed his eyes against an oncoming headache as the owl flew away. Tears prickled at his eyes from the inside of his closed lids. He was tired, tired of all this. Why couldn’t everything and everyone just stop screwing him over. He let out a breath that sounded like a sob.

“Draco?” He froze, heart leaping in his chest, speeding like a race car. “Hey, morning.” Draco turned away from the counter, his back to Harry as he set about trying to make them tea. “Everything alright? How’s the baby?”

Draco nodded his head but Harry’s hand on his arm made him turn around. He was sure that he’d had enough time to put up his mask of indifference before facing him. “Everything is fine, Potter. I’m just exhausted and tired.” Well, he wasn’t lying, was he?

Potter nodded his head. “You don’t need to worry about the baby anymore. I’m going to be taking it over to the Ministry to make sure they find out who left the baby on our doorstep and why.”

Draco forced a smile at Harry, and that seemed to satisfy him enough to let go of Draco’s arm. Draco silently turned to make tea. “Hey, is this the _Daily Prophet_?” Harry asked.

Draco stilled, his entire body feeling as if it had been dipped in cold water. He was frozen. “Yes, an owl came by and dropped it off.” His reply was stiff but he didn’t think Potter noticed. He could hear the sounds of paper unfolding.

There was a minute or two of complete silence and Draco felt like his heart would drop to his stomach, before the swearing began. Potter used words Draco hadn’t even heard of before, and Draco wasn’t aware that he had flinched, that he had jumped back and turned around to face Harry. The look that shown on his face was open enough and severe enough for Potter to forget what he’d been swearing about and immediately apologise to him.

“What is it, Potter?” Draco asked after Potter had said ‘sorry’ for the fifteenth time. “Did they show a bad picture of you again? I keep telling you to take a shower before you go out. You do know that you’re supposed to take one every single day right?”

Harry glared at him, and Draco fisted his shirt with his shaking hands. He wasn’t going to turn around and make tea, he was going to let Potter speak. He was going to look him in the eyes.

“It’s not that,” he said and threw the paper in Draco’s general direction. Draco caught it with ease and readied himself for the show he was about to put on for Potter’s sake.

As he opened up the front page, he saw two separate photos. One was of Potter, from the Winter Gala, and Draco slid his appreciative glance away from it to the other of Ginny Weasley, at an after party. The picture seemed quite recent, as if She-Weasley were celebrating the victory of the Holyhead Harpies during their last match.

They were both moving pictures, of course. In the first picture, Potter seemed to be looking somewhere in the distance, a dreamy look in his eyes as he gazed at someone you couldn’t make out in the picture. In the second one, which was right next to the first, She-Weasley seemed to be waving at someone she knew, and giving them a genuine, growing smile.

The photos were very well put together because it looked as though the object of Potter’s affectionate gaze was She-Weasley and as if She-Weasley, instead of looking over at her friend, was staring into the eyes of one person in particular: Potter.

The headline above the two photos read, ‘The Boy Who Lived Engaged to the Star Player of the Holyhead Harpies’. Draco felt numb and at the same time as if his whole world was coming crashing down on him. It all looked so much bigger, so much worse than he’d expected. Killings hadn’t been lying when he’d said that he’d be making it front page news.

Draco didn’t read the story, he didn’t need to. He had written it. Instead his eyes went over the ‘anonymous’ written in place of the writer’s name. The slight relief that settled in him wasn’t enough to chip away at the feeling of dread that stuck with him. He pretended to skim over the article, all the while not really wanting to face Potter’s reaction.

He knew that it was going to be bad if the swearing was any indication. As he neatly folded the paper and put it on the countertop, Harry looked at him and asked, “How?”

They were standing close enough for Draco to be slightly mesmerised by Potter’s eyes. He was convinced for a second that Potter knew, that Potter knew that it was him. He’d written it, of course he had, he worked for the _Daily Prophet_ didn’t he? As a writer no less. Draco cleared his throat.

“How did they find out about this?” Harry asked. He seemed to be struggling to keep himself under control. Draco could practically feel the fumes emitting from Potter’s body. “I didn’t– nobody knew. I didn’t even wear my engagement ring!”

“Maybe it was an accident,” Draco mused, and he was surprised at how stable his voice sounded despite his inner turmoil. “Maybe one of your close friends or family members mentioned something to someone.”

“No. No, they wouldn’t. They know– they know….” Potter took a deep breath to calm himself.

“It could be a mistake. Maybe, Longbottom accidentally said something, or Finnigan did. You know he can’t shut up, he probably blurted it out to someone in a half-inebriated state.”

Draco felt horrible. He felt like a terrible person; he was one. But he thought of his job, his only possibility of a future, the only way he could build up his own, and his family’s reputation, the only way he could ever be successful and worth something. The one hand Draco still had fisting his own robes, tightened.

“I just can’t believe it,” Potter leaned against the counter, visibly shaken. “This was supposed to be our announcement–Ginny’s and mine. We were supposed to tell everyone after she came back from her tour. I just– I can’t–”

Draco placed a soft hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry welcomed his touch. “I’m sorry, Potter,” he said, because in that moment, that was all he could say. He could only hope that it would be enough and hope for forgiveness from him.

Potter took out his wand all of a sudden, and before Draco could ask what he was doing, Potter muttered an “ _Incendio_ ,” under his breath, pointing the wand at the newspaper and watching as it went up in flames. Draco could feel Harry relaxing slightly, could feel himself withdrawing from Harry, stepping back from the fire, blinking multiple times to rid his mind of the images of the Fiendfyre.

He could hear Potter apologising again, could feel the weight of Potter’s hands on him, could feel the weight of what he’d done, and he realised that if Potter ever found out about what Draco had done, when he found out about it, he would never forgive Draco.

Suddenly it wasn’t images of the Fiendfyre playing on a loop in his head, it was the Sectumsempra spell Potter had used on him, the pain he’d felt, the shock, and Draco wondered if once again, he was destined to be killed by Potter. If that was going to be his legacy, just like The Dark Lord.

 

* * *

 

 

It had been hours since Harry had left, since he had apologised continuously and promised Draco he’d never let his anger get to him. He had been understanding, and had asked Draco if he’d wanted to talk about the Fiendfyre incident, had taken Draco’s shaking hands into his and whispered a soft sorry, his eyes filled with guilt and regret.

Draco had wanted to scream at him, to tell Harry what he had done, even if it was just to erase the guilt and regret from those eyes. He wanted Potter to hate him and to be mad at him. A voice at the back of Draco’s mind told him he wouldn’t have to work very hard to release that emotion from Potter. He swallowed it back down. He was a coward after all.

Potter had left with the baby after making sure that Draco was alright. In fact, he’d refused to go even after that, stating that he could call in sick. Draco had had to kick Potter out of the house, push him through the Floo with the crying baby in his arms, telling Potter that the very important reason he had to go to work was in his arms, and that he better take care of it.

Then he had proceeded to dump his entire body on that cushiony, velvety sofa he and Potter had picked out, given a great, big sigh, and had opened up the very newspaper he had written the front page news for, to look for other, more interesting news. He didn’t need to look far because on the very next page was a full profile picture of him, of Draco, leaning casually against one of the food counters. He was talking to one of the chief guests of the Gala, with a bright glint in his eyes and Fleur to his side. His wine glass was almost half-filled and tipped towards the guest, held expertly with a firm but gentle grip in his fingers.

Draco had quite liked the picture, but he had been just as certain that he would dislike the headlines it followed. It had taken a few minutes of blinking for the surprise and shock to register. He’d been wrong. The headlines had mentioned his name, but there had been no use of derogatory terms, no ex-Death Eater, no Voldemort’s apprentice, no pure-blood traitor, just Draco Malfoy, a charmer and the current employee of the _Daily Prophet_.

Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter’s plus one and recent roommate. Draco Malfoy, an upcoming fashion icon and a new favourite of the paparazzi. Draco Malfoy, a rising star who had stolen the show from Harry fucking Potter. Draco had smiled for the first time in what felt like forever, had felt relief that had been out of the world. He had scoured the entire article, but had not found a single insult written in the entire thing.

Suddenly, Mr Killings’ words from the day Draco had submitted his article had made a reappearance in Draco’s mind–

_“I always keep my word, Mr Malfoy. I assure you, you will get a lot more than you’ve asked for.”_

–and all he had seen was red.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco was still cleaning up and fixing the mess that he’d caused when Potter returned. Draco had his back to him but he heard the roaring of the Floo and tensed up for a second before taking a deep breath and continuing to repair the cracked flower vase that he had placed in the middle of the dining table as soon as they had moved in.

“Draco,” Harry said, and Draco stopped breathing. Potter sounded high-strung. “What happened?” Draco continued to breathe.

“Accidental magic,” he stiffly replied without looking back. He felt a hand on his shoulder and trembled, closing his eyes as he tried to hold back his tears. “It happens sometimes, Potter.” Draco’s voice wavered.

“I know that,” Potter said and squeezed his shoulder in a reassuring manner. “But I also know that it’s less than possible when you’re a pure-blood who’s been born into magic and taught to control it before you even know how to walk.”

Although Harry’s hand on his shoulder and his soft words didn’t get Draco to turn, a familiar cooing sound did. Draco turned around to find the baby in Potter’s arm. “Potter–”

“It’s a long story, and I’ll explain it all to you later, but first, I need to know what is going on with you. Was it the fire?” Draco knew that look in Harry’s eyes, he knew Potter wouldn’t give up until he got his answer, knew that he hated lying to Potter.

“Yes, it was,” Draco said, his eyes trained on the baby, and he realised that he didn’t know whether it was a he or a she. They hadn’t even given it a name yet. “Potter, is the baby a he or a she?” Draco asked.

Harry had taken his hand off of Draco’s shoulder and was holding the baby with it, the soft smile on his face growing softer. He looked up as Draco gently took the baby from him. “It’s a he,” he said.

“Hmmm,” Draco responded, deep in thought, “What shall we name him? Scorpius?”

“What about…” Harry trailed off, staring at the baby in contemplation, “…Chaos?”

“Really, Potter? Chaos?” Draco raised an eyebrow in judgment. “What about Orion?”

“Well, I thought it was appropriate,” Harry shrugged, glancing at the baby, “Also are you just naming constellations as suggestions for the baby’s name?”

Draco glared at Potter, not being able to find a biting enough response, which meant that he’d have to settle with giving Potter the most lethal look he could muster. “Yes, I am. Cygnus, Perseus, Cepheus, Eridanus, Lepus, Corvus, Hercules–”

“Stop!” Harry said, and Draco stopped walking around with the baby. The baby looked almost as if it were about to cry. Draco smiled at him and the baby blinked. “Do you have any names that are… _normal?_ ”

“…Aquila?” Draco suggested after a few moments of quick thinking and going through the sequence of names of constellations and stars that he’d been taught.

“What about–” Harry stepped closer to the baby and Draco noticed how the green of Harry’s eyes had changed, it had become more like the grassy green of an open field during the summer breeze. “–Aquies?”

Draco tried, but he couldn’t find a single thing wrong with that name. “Sounds like water,” he said.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, his smile seeming watery as he looked at the baby. “He kind of reminds me of water, necessary to live isn’t it, and when it’s not there, you feel its absence, feel as if you may die.” Potter’s voice had started to crack. He swallowed and took a step back when he was done, but Draco wasn’t. It was his turn to ask the questions now.

“Potter, what happened at the Ministry?” Draco asked.

Harry met eyes with Draco and for a single moment, and Draco could swear that he could see the entire story playing out in Potter’s eyes, every single bit of it. But then Potter blinked and he seemed to withdraw from Draco’s gaze to get his bearings together. “We couldn’t find Aquies’ parents. The Ministry’s recruited a bunch of uneducated, incapable fucking apes for the job, and when I told them that the baby was supposed to remain in their custody, they told me this meant that they’d have to put the baby in an adoption centre. Why should they put a baby who’s already got parents in a fucking adoption centre?”

“Apparently those arseholes can’t even take care of a baby until they find its parents. I told them that’s not how it worked, fuck the rules, you can’t do that to a baby! But those bastards wouldn’t listen; they said they were going to send the baby away, as if it’s a thing rather than a person, a tiny human child. And you know what, Draco, call me a hypocrite but I didn’t trust those sons of bitches for even a second, so of course I brought the baby back. I wasn’t going to keep him with those sleazy, old Ministry workers for a moment longer.”

To say that Draco was overwhelmed would be an understatement. He couldn’t help being amused by Potter’s anger and his rage, couldn’t help grinning from ear to ear. “You do realise that whoever Aquies’ parents are, Potter. They left him at our doorstep, so technically–”

“Don’t,” Potter interrupted as he looked at the baby. “Don’t. I am too exhausted right now. Too many things have gone wrong today.” Potter looked it too. He put his head in his hands and curled the tips of his fingers into his hair as he sat on the sofa. Draco’s heart sank to the bottom of his stomach as he heard a distressed sound coming from Potter’s mouth. It sounded a lot like a sob.

“Do you want to hold the baby?” Draco asked, not knowing what more comfort he could offer. He tried not to think about how he was the cause of Harry’s discomfort and pain.

Potter’s head turned up slightly and his lips parted to let out a breath. “May I?” Draco blinked, surprised at the politeness that his question carried. He wondered if Harry’s relatives had instilled this habit in him, and then wondered _how_ they had. He quickly shook his thoughts away before they could take him over, however, because Draco couldn’t afford to lose control of his emotions again.

He walked over to Potter, sitting down next to him and leaning towards him so he could put the baby into Harry’s arms. Harry met Draco halfway and took the baby from him. Aquies just quietly stared at Harry, not making a single noise, with his hands and legs waving in the air.

Harry’s lips twitched upwards as Aquies cooed and waved his hands near Harry’s face, his feet kicking harder. He slowly brought his hand up to Aquies’ nose and lightly touched it. Aquies giggled at that, finally getting a hold of Harry’s hand, latching onto a few of his fingers and making Harry laugh.

The sound of Harry’s laughter made Draco smile, and watching Harry’s interactions with Aquies filled him with a joy that felt too foreign to place, so Draco couldn’t help but think that keeping Aquies around was the best decision Harry had ever made.

 

* * *

 

 

Keeping Aquies around was the worst decision Harry had ever made. He had not stopped crying since the moment he’d arrived back into the house. There had been a few initial moments of silence and peace, but those had shattered sooner than they’d expected. They’d had to scour through all of the books Narcissa and Lucius had left for them, about how to take care of _magical_ babies, as well as the internet. Even though Harry was pretty convinced that the baby was a Muggle, they’d still added a hint of treacle to his baby food and had sprouted tiny stars from their wands to keep the baby entertained and busy.

They’d watched about a dozen tutorials online about how to change a baby’s diaper, and despite Draco’s multiple suggestions that they should do it with the use of a few _simple_ spells, Harry insisted they change the diapers manually. So it had become Harry’s duty to do it of course, and yet again, just like when Harry had been choosing his outfit for the Winter Gala, Draco stood back and watched Harry make a mess of everything.

Harry had kept it together when Aquies had refused to stay still as Harry had opened up a diaper. He’d made eye contact with him and had tried talking to him in a hushed voice and a reassuring manner, which had led to Draco cracking up. He had kept his cool when Aquies had somehow managed to rip a hole in the diaper as Harry had been watching a tutorial on YouTube about how to change a baby’s diapers, especially one as stubborn as this one. He’d had to open up a new diaper, and Draco had fallen onto the floor laughing.

He had kept calm when Aquies had pooped on the table and looked up with those innocent brown eyes, and Draco had refused to even go near the poop, which had resulted in Harry magically throwing it into the bin. Draco hadn’t been able to keep the amused look off of his face and Harry had wished he could just throttle him right then. But it was the fourth time that made Harry give up. He should’ve known that Aquies staying silent and still while Harry put on his diaper was too good to be true. It was. It was when the task was almost over, and Harry was almost there, that he was splashed in the face by a bitter tasting liquid, and a lot of it.

Draco had turned red. He had clutched at his stomach and leaned against the counter, shaking so hard, you’d think that he was having a violent seizure, but he wasn’t. He was just laughing, hard, because Aquies had ended up peeing all over Harry’s face. His entire face as well a bit of his hair had become wet, and Harry had been flaming up, smoke coming from his ears, as he had walked over to his room, gone to his bathroom, and had scrubbed his entire face off, even shampooing his hair.

He had come back to Draco holding a fully diapered Aquies to his shoulder and bouncing him, with Aquies giggling. He had met Draco’s eyes with a question in his mind and Draco had shrugged and said, “I used a few simple spells.” Harry had given up on everything in his life right then.

He had slumped onto the sofa and stared at the ceiling, letting all sane thoughts leak out of him, letting his mind drift away, letting–

“Potter!” Harry startled and sat up. He huffed as Draco sat next to him. “Here, hold him,” Draco said, shifting Aquies onto his lap, but Harry moved away.

“I’m not holding him,” he said, standing up immediately. “He peed on my face.”

“Are you a child, Potter? Aquies is a baby, do you think he was deliberately trying to sabotage your attempts to change his diaper? Besides, I kept telling you to do it using a spell, I don’t know why you kept insisting on doing it manually.” Draco said, and Harry glared at him, feeling as if he was just seconds away from a breakdown.

“I think I’m going to go into my room. Don’t bother me, either of you,” Harry said, and sent heated glances towards both Draco and Aquies.

He heard Draco saying, “It’s alright, Aquies, don’t pay attention to Harry, he’s just jealous of us. Me because I got these diapers on you without getting my hands dirty, and you because it turns out that you probably have a better aim than him.”

Harry closed the door to his room behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

He heard the knock from the other side of the door and his ears perked up. “Potter, dinner is ready. If you want to, you can come outside to eat, or I could bring the food in here for you,” Draco said. Harry could hear Draco’s voice, soft and understanding, and it made Harry feel guilty beyond his control. He’d done nothing but cause pain to Draco the entire day.

First with his explicit swearing; he should’ve known that there were words Draco must’ve never heard in his lifetime. He doubted the Malfoys had ever let them even cross their mouths. The only time he’d heard Draco swearing had been the one time he’d been sleeping, and in his defence, he’d been drunk on wine the previous night. Then Harry had burnt the newspaper up in flames, completely forgetting somehow about the whole Fiendfyre incident and the fact that Draco had developed a slight fear of fire since that day. Of course he had, how could he not have? Harry was a fool to have made Draco go through that, with the fire and the heat so close to him.

He’d known that Draco was going through something the moment he’d woken up. Draco’s body language had been all wrong, in a way it had never been before. He’d looked defeated, his shoulders drooping as if he was being forced to carry the weight of the entire world, and when his eyes had met Harry’s, all he’d seen had been pain and anguish swirling within those grey eyes. He’d wanted to ask Draco what was bothering him, had wanted to push him a little more, but he’d remembered Draco’s words from the day before.

_“I can't. I can't tell you. Last night. I already– I've told you enough.”_

He wished Draco would just tell him, wished he’d be able to do something to help him. Harry wished that Draco would let his walls drop enough to let Harry in and to confide in him, to tell him what was wrong. He wanted Draco to open up to him, like he’d opened up to Draco about his past. He wanted to ease all of his worries and his pain, but he couldn’t do that if Draco kept him at an arm’s length, if he kept pushing Harry away.

_And what you’re doing right now, is it not the same thing?_

Harry had walked towards the door and opened it before he’d even thought of doing it, and Draco who was still standing at the door, clearly waiting for Harry’s response, looked surprised. Draco opened his mouth to speak but Harry cut him off. He had a lot to say after all.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m really sorry, Draco, for being so rude and inconsiderate and for causing you so much pain today. I shouldn’t have taken out my anger on you, shouldn’t have sworn like that, shouldn’t have cast an _Incendio_ on that newspaper. I was having a bad day today, but none of that was your fault, you had nothing to do with any of it, so I’m sorry for pushing you and Aquies away. I’ll try not to do it again, I promise.”

After Harry had finished speaking, had said all he’d wanted to say, he glanced up at Draco. Draco looked as if he’d been visibly slapped in the face, and Harry couldn’t figure out why. He’d just apologised, he hadn’t said or done anything wrong had he?

“It’s fine, Potter,” Draco said, taking a step back. “You don’t have to–”

Harry cut him off again. Draco was doing that thing. He was taking a step back and trying to physically, and mentally, remove himself from the situation, making sure he couldn’t feel or show his emotions. Harry hated when he did that. The last time he’d done it was when Harry had been ignoring him after his mental breakdown. Harry had gone to talk to Draco about the Gala, about wanting Draco to be his plus one, and Draco had tried to, all the while, do nothing but escape into his room.

He’d understood that Draco had been trying to do the same thing to Harry, had tried to ignore him because he’d been pissed at him. But that wasn’t the case now. Harry was willing to try now, he wanted Draco to let him in, to get close to him. So he stepped forward and held Draco’s arm.

“I do,” Harry said. “I really do.” Draco froze momentarily, looking down at Harry’s hand on his arm, and Harry’s heart thudded in his chest, it raced as he dared to let his hand slide down towards Draco’s. “I know that I hurt you, Draco,” he said softly, his hand tentatively touching Draco’s. “It wasn’t deliberate, I promise you it wasn’t, but I know that doesn’t excuse my behavior, so please don’t try to pretend like it means nothing.” He swallowed heavily, his eyes widening, cheeks flushing as Draco’s hand opened up. He looked down at their palms meeting and fingers intertwining. “Please just talk to me.”

 

* * *

 

 

_“Please just talk to me.”_

The words kept resounding in Draco’s head, and Harry’s hand, which was holding his own, wasn’t helping the situation. This was wrong on so many levels. Draco knew that. He was going behind Potter’s back, betraying him by using the information he’d found out from him, that Harry had told him because he’d trusted him, and using it against him.

He’d thought that the engagement would be the easiest information to give out. Most of Harry’s friends already knew about it, so a newspaper headline would be no big deal. Killings had made it into quite a big deal though; the bastard had put it smack on the first page. The headline had been eye-catching, and the picture even more so. Draco hated that he had played such an important part in it, he hated that Potter had apologised to him and had the audacity to look guilty and pretend as if this was all his fault, as if he had wronged Draco, when he had in fact done nothing wrong.

If anything, Draco knew he didn’t deserve Harry’s kind words and his understanding, he didn’t deserve any of it and he would only lose it when Harry would find out about what Draco had done.

“Draco,” Harry said gently, and he was so close, too close. Draco swallowed as he looked at Harry’s lips. “What’s wrong?”

Draco wished he could tell Harry, wished he could confess, let the words spill from his mouth, let his self-loathing out, but he couldn’t. He still remembered how good it felt to read the compliments that had been written about him on the next pages of the paper, still remembered the fact that his job depended on it, remembered Killings’ words, remembered his promise to his mother and father. He knew that he couldn’t marry Astoria, couldn’t have a family of his own, couldn’t risk it, and he couldn’t get too close to anyone, especially Potter. He couldn’t.

Draco looked into Harry’s eyes and realised his mistake as soon as he had, because Harry was looking right back into his.

Harry Potter was engaged to Ginny Weasley and they were going to get married very soon. Draco had never realised exactly how upset Potter would be when the news spread, exactly how much it meant to him, how much Ginny meant to him. He had never realised the intensity or the amount of emotions or love Potter harboured for her, but he should have. Maybe he’d been wrong back at that coffee shop, maybe falling in love for the Boy Who Lived could be that simple and straight, maybe he could have a happily ever after, maybe Draco could believe it, maybe he could have no difficulty doing so.

What Draco had even more difficulty trying to understand though, was why any of this bothered him, because it shouldn’t. It had nothing to do with him and he’d always known about it. “Nothing, Potter,” Draco said, removing his hand, quite roughly from Harry’s grasp. His tone was harsh as he took quick steps back to the living room, where Aquies was still lying on the couch, protected by a dozen or more magical spells. “It’s nothing at all.”

_“Please just talk to me.”_

_“I can't. I can't tell you. Last night. I already– I've told you enough.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Harry and Draco were both startled awake by voices coming from outside their rooms. As the voices got louder, the doors to their separate rooms opened and they looked at the scene in front of them.

In front of them stood Lucius and Narcissa along with Pansy and Blaise, and some distance away from them stood Molly, Arthur, Ron and Hermione. They were all facing each other, seeming as if they were going up for a duel against each other and would be bringing out their wands at any moment.

Draco and Harry immediately exchanged alarmed looks and closed the distance between them. “Aquies,” Draco said, “He’s–”

“Fast asleep on the bed,” Harry confirmed and unsurely glanced at their families, who still hadn’t seen them and were busy staring each other off. “What should we do? I mean what are we supposed to do in a situation like this?”

Draco bit his lip and watched the scene that was playing out in front of him for a minute before he turned to Harry, his eyes bright, “I have an idea. Potter, you go and try to neutralise the threat, I’ll go get him.”

“What?” Harry looked at Draco who was already walking away from him. “Wait!” But Draco had disappeared into Harry’s room, closing the door behind him. “Fuck, why does it always have to be me?” Harry pouted at the closed door for a few seconds and then sighed and started to go towards all of the mess and commotion that was going on.

By the time Draco came back, Harry was right in the middle of the fight that was sure to break out at any moment and he seemed to be trying to get everyone to calm down. He was doing a terrible job really, just as Draco had suspected. Although Potter was quite popular, he was not exactly what one would call a people person. Now Draco could have waited and watched, he could have enjoyed the show, but he chose to be a decent human being and went forward to help Harry.

“Harry, why don’t you tell the bitch that this house belongs to you too, and we’re your family, which means that we can come and go as we please?” Ron shouted, as if Harry wasn’t standing right next to him, and as if he wasn’t screaming right into his ear.

“Who’re you calling a bitch, Weasel? I know you cry yourself to sleep every night. Isn’t that right, Granger?” Pansy screamed in Harry’s other ear.

“Oh please, everyone knows how you were the one who cried during the Yule Ball because Draco wasn’t paying attention to you. Unrequited love hurts, doesn’t it?” Hermione replied right back, and Draco saw Pansy’s eyes blazing as she stepped towards Granger.

“You better hold me back Blaise, or I’ll tear her to pieces,” Pansy warned, her eyes still on Granger. Blaise didn’t seem to want to do that any time soon, in fact, he was glaring at Granger as if he were about to do the same.

Meanwhile, the adults of the house were completely quiet, staring each other off, facial muscles twitching every once in a while. They all turned to Draco though, as soon as the bundle in his arms shook and laughed lightly. Silence spread across the room, only breaking as Harry stepped towards Draco, his eyes on the baby and a tentative smile growing on his lips.

“Hey there, Aquies,” he spoke as he took the baby from Draco’s arms. Aquies only seemed to be more delighted to be in Harry’s arms and the sight made Draco’s heart clench. “I think he likes me more than you, Draco,” Harry stated with a mischievous look in his eyes and a teasing lilt to his voice. But unluckily for him, Draco didn’t rise to his bait. He simply agreed with him.

“I think he does, Potter.”

“Harry,” Harry said, and Draco raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s about time you called me that, don’t you think?” And Draco froze, not being able to say a word in response. _Potter, I don’t deserve to call you that. Not now, not anymore._

Harry carefully bounced the baby in his arms but didn’t take his eyes off of Draco. Draco knew he was waiting for him to say it, so he swallowed his nervousness and hesitancy, and did. “I think Aquies most definitely likes you more than me, _Harry_.”

Harry grinned at Draco as he stepped close to him, “Are you agreeing with me, Draco?”

“Do you not want me to, _Harry_?” Draco asked, his tone challenging but not biting enough.

Before their banter could elevate into something more, Molly put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Is that him?” she asked. Her eyes looked at Aquies but she chanced a glance at Draco as well, passing him a small smile. Heat spread across Draco’s cheeks as he smiled and stepped back.

Harry had, the night before, called and informed all of the Weasleys about Aquies and the situation he and Draco were in, and had invited them to come over and take a look at the baby. He’d also taken the day off from his job.

“He looks just like you, Harry,” Ron butted in, bringing Draco to the present. “You sure he isn’t yours?” Draco couldn’t help but snort at that, getting a small amount of pleasure by watching Harry spluttering and struggling to find a response.

“That’s what I asked him too, Weasley,” Draco said, not being able to help the grin that spread across his face. Ron looked over at him, and Draco felt a warmth bloom in his chest as he passed Draco a smile.

“Well, no need to worry about that, Malfoy, because Harry’s still a virgin. I’m pretty sure he would’ve told me if he wasn’t during one of our drunken Friday nights spent watching shitty Muggle movies.”

“Ron!” Both Harry and Molly exclaimed, and Draco sent Ron an amused glance.

“I appreciate you telling me that, Weasley,” Draco admonished, and Harry’s face had become a completely distinguished shade of red by then. Draco felt absolutely delighted by this, of course.

“Anytime, mate,” Ron dished out casually, and the way he did had Draco tapering down and letting a genuine smile onto his lips.

“I, meanwhile, am glad to have found out that it is not just a Slytherin tradition to watch the worst Muggle movies. I see that this is a tradition the Gryffindors follow, too,” Blaise said.

“Wait, you do that, too?” Granger asked.

“Yes, we do,” Pansy said. “Turns out, you aren’t that special, Granger.”

“Pans,” Draco said and glared at Pansy, who looked straight back at Draco without a hint of regret. He sighed and said, “At least don’t start in front of Aquies.”

“Why are you getting so concerned about the baby, Draco? From what I’ve heard, it’s Potter’s illegitimate child, isn’t it?” she continued.

“Pansy, stop!” Draco spoke, coldly and harshly, in a way he’d never spoken to her before, but he’d had enough. Draco and Harry had enough of a mess to take care of, and Pansy wasn’t helping him, which was what she was supposed to do because she was his best friend. “What are you even doing here? You aren’t supposed to be here.”

Before either of them could backtrack on what they’d said or respond to the other, Narcissa kept a hand on Draco’s shoulder, “I told them to come with us. I realise now that we did not plan well and perhaps we should have informed you before we came, but your father and I had wanted to surprise you.”

Draco relaxed under her touch, feeling his stress automatically being relieved. “It’s alright, Mother, I appreciate your efforts, and yours too, Father.” He stretched his neck a little to spot Lucius who was still standing erect and cautiously, glaring daggers at Arthur who was mirroring the same expression right back.

“Arthur!” Harry called and made both the men look at him.

“Harry, my boy,” Arthur greeted Harry with a hug, and it took Draco a second to register the fact that the Aquies wasn’t with Harry anymore. He didn’t panic however because the next second, he spotted him nestled comfortably in Molly Weasley’s arms.

After they were done with the hug, Harry awkwardly looked over at Lucius and said with a nod, “Mr Malfoy.”

“Potter,” Lucius replied.

“Father,” Draco called out, in an attempt to dissolve the tension in the air, and Lucius turned to look at his son. He seemed to visibly grow more confident as he strode over to Draco.

“Hello, Draco.”

As Draco looked around him, he saw that Blaise was already having a conversation with Granger and Weasley, with Pansy being a hesitant and unwilling participant and Harry joining in once in a while. Harry also seemed to be having stilted conversations with Molly and Arthur, who still hadn’t quit glaring at Lucius. Lucius’ and Narcissa’s attention seemed to be on the baby which was now somehow in Pansy’s arms.

Draco remembered the words he’d just spoken to Pansy and approached her cautiously. The conversation happening between their group momentarily stopped as Draco said, “Pansy, may I hold the baby?” He looked her in the eyes and continued to hold her gaze, hoping she could read the apology in it.

Pansy didn’t blink and Draco didn’t dare to breathe until she did and stepped towards him, holding out the baby. “Here you go,” she said softly.

“I’m so sorry,” Draco breathed in Pansy’s ear when he was sure no one could hear him, “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that, especially in public. I didn’t mean to–”

“I know,” she replied, just as quietly. “I’ve known you for a long time Draco, long enough to realise the things you haven’t yet.” Draco pulled back, a little confused at Pansy’s words and the hand she lightly touched to his arm. “The baby’s adorable, I’ll admit, and I can see that you quite care for him,” Pansy changed the subject before Draco could really ask her about it.

“His name is Aquies,” Draco said, taking him from Pansy and swinging him from side to side. He still couldn’t explain why what Pansy had said had left a sinking feeling in his stomach and a bitter taste on his tongue. But he forgot all about it as he looked around.

It seemed as if he and Harry had accomplished the impossible, they had actually managed to get the Weasleys and the Malfoys to remain in each other’s presence and tolerate each other without hurting each other. Draco’s eyes stopped looking and searching as they fell on Harry and stayed there. Harry was laughing, his hair curling up and seeming to blow back as he did. He was in a conversation with Narcissa and, surprisingly, Lucius, and seemed to be enjoying himself and having a great time. He was even trying his best to get Blaise and Pansy involved in the conversation.

Draco decided that despite his feelings of animosity for Potter having disappeared, he still couldn’t let Potter one up him like this. After all, Potter wasn’t a people person, Draco was. But before he could think about approaching the Weasleys, they called out to him, or it was specifically and surprisingly, Hermione Granger who did. She invited him to come over and join them and Draco was only too eager to do so, even though he kept his cool during his response in a true Malfoy manner.

And as he walked over to them, using Aquies as his shield, he spared one last look at Potter and wondered what Pansy had been talking about. What had he not realised that she had, and what had that reassuring squeeze to his arm and that pitying look meant?

Draco didn’t know how he managed to get them finally talking to one another, but he didn’t really care to remember. His mother and father had somehow been pulled into a conversation with Mr and Mrs Weasley about the Winter Gala, and it had all gone positively uphill after that. They were all saying their goodbyes to Harry and Draco, kissing Aquies on his cheek, before the conversations had a chance to go downhill or any of their old animosity could be remembered.

Then, it was only Harry, Draco, and the baby. They dropped onto the couch as the last of their guests left, utterly exhausted. Draco closed his eyes, letting the last of his muscles unknot and relax. He didn’t realise that he’d fallen asleep until he opened his eyes and blinked to gather his bearings. A look at the clock placed on the overhead wall told him that it was mid-afternoon. It took him a few minutes to figure out what had woken him up but the sounds of laughter coming from the kitchen were answer enough for him.

As he neared the kitchen, he heard Harry singing what had to be a Muggle song, and he didn’t sound too bad, Draco mused. Aquies seemed to be enjoying it too, if his laughter was any indication. Harry joined in with Aquies’ laughter, cutting off on singing his song after every few lines. Draco leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Harry move around and dance ridiculously before grinning at Aquies. It was as if Harry was putting on a show just for him and _maybe,_ Draco thought, _maybe that’s exactly what he was doing_.

“Not bad, Potter,” Draco said and startled Harry, making the food he was cooking and simultaneously trying to taste, almost burn his tongue. “The singing was half decent, but I’m afraid when it comes to dancing, you are still no good.”

Potter’s grin widened, “Perhaps you can teach me sometime, Draco.”

“Perhaps I might be able to,” Draco replied with a shrug. “But not today, and most certainly not right now, because you see, _Harry,_ most of us have jobs we do and are busy, and we cannot just take a day off as we please with no consequences.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but it was true. Sure Killings was being lenient now that he had Draco exactly where he wanted him and sure this meant that Draco could work from the comfort of his home now, but he still had to work. He couldn’t just randomly take a day off and tell Killings that he had to do it because of the additional responsibility of a baby. That would raise a whole new set of questions in Killing’s mind that Draco wasn’t feeling particularly inclined to answer, and he didn’t want to give Killings anymore information that he absolutely had to.

“Well lunch is almost ready, Draco, so you can either sit outside or stay here and watch Aquies. There are only so many times I can sing and dance to the same song to keep him entertained.”

“Ah, in that case, I do feel quite sorry for Aquies. I’ll take him outside to keep an eye on him,” Draco said, and swooped Aquies outside before Harry could protest. “You like me more than Potter, don’t you, Aquies?” Draco asked him as he took him outside to the living room. He stopped in his footsteps, however, distracted immediately by someone unexpected.

“Malfoy?” A voice called. As soon as Draco looked over at the source of it, he almost dropped Aquies, and his smile disappeared. He stood in front of the figure stiffly. “Do you know where Harry is? He’s here, isn’t he?” Draco nodded his head and tilted his head towards the kitchen watching as the figure walked past him and eyed Aquies strangely.

He heard the footsteps of the figure going away from him and imagined them nearing the kitchen. The sound stopped and Draco heard an exclamation of “Harry!”

There was a moment of silence before Harry responded with an equally enthusiastic and surprised, “Ginny?” Draco closed his eyes, not realising why he felt dizzy all of a sudden. He needed to sit down. “Ginny!”

“How are you? You have no idea how much fun I had on the tour, Harry. I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Gin. What are you doing here? I thought your tour was going to take longer.”

“I thought so too, but it didn’t take as long as we’d expected. We thought we’d reach the final round, at least, but we only reached the semi-finals. I was going to call you but I wanted to surprise you.”

Aquies’ cooing distracted Draco and made him smile again. He slowly walked over to the kitchen, thinking about what he could say to interrupt the reunion. He knew one thing for sure, he couldn’t possibly bear to listen to them for any longer.

“Hey, Potter, I think I shall keep Aquies back here as I really must get started on doing my work for today. Could you do me a favour and place my lunch on the desk in my room? Thank you.”

With those words, Draco kept Aquies back in his bundle of blankets and pillows and reinforced some magical spells before he fled. Harry didn’t let him though.

“Wait, Draco, I thought we were going to have lunch together. Also, why are you acting so weirdly polite?”

“I changed my mind, and I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Potter.” Draco didn’t look at Harry or his fiancée as he spoke to him.

“So it’s back to Potter for you, is it?” Harry asked lightly. Draco looked up at him sharply at that, which was a mistake he shouldn’t have made because Harry’s mood and his expressions changed swiftly and Draco didn’t like the change. Draco tried to flee the scene for the second time, but was yet again stopped by Harry’s voice. “You alright, Dray?” he asked, and Draco had lost count of how many times Harry had asked him that.

He gritted his teeth and held back his words that wanted to flow out with his feelings and emotions. “Why do you care?” Draco questioned, his back to Harry, and when he walked away this time, Harry didn’t try to stop him.

It was only when he got to his room that he realised what Harry had called him. Dray. He’d called him Dray. Harry had called him Dray. Draco slumped against the door to his room as the way Harry had said it repeated over and over in his head. He really wasn’t alright. He really, really wasn’t.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a half an hour later that there was a knock at his door and a moment’s pause before the door opened, and Potter stepped in. “I came here to give you your lunch and to ask you, again, if you just want to eat outside with us. Ginny’s not here anymore, so it’s just me and Aquies.”

Draco had his head buried in an old book about a nearby museum built by a wizard, which was going to be holding an exhibition of rare wizarding objects and antiquities. Draco, of course, had a special pass and a direct invitation to the exhibition, so he had to do quite a bit of research into the museum as well as the wizard who built it, and the objects that the museum contained.

He looked up at Potter’s entrance and grew curious at his words. “She-Weasley’s gone already?”

Harry nodded his head, leaning against the wall behind him with Draco’s tray of lunch still in his hands. “She wanted to surprise the rest of family and asked me if I wanted to come along with her.”

“You didn’t go?” Draco asked, unsure about what Potter’s presence meant. Had he not gone with her or was he going to go join her after lunch perhaps?

“No, I had to have lunch,” he said, with a fierce blush covering his cheeks. Draco blinked, forgetting how to breathe. The _‘with you’_ seemed to be implied. _I had to have lunch with you. I want to just sit down and have lunch with you._

Draco remembered when he’d finished moving into this flat with Harry, he remembered having thought: _A quiet home-made dinner for two along with a pack of beers, was that all it took for Potter to be happy?_

Now he knew that it most probably did, and he wanted Draco’s company, Draco’s and Aquies’. “Alright, Potter, I’ll join you and Aquies outside for lunch.” Potter should not be allowed to look so happy at the smallest of statements, he shouldn’t be allowed to lightly nudge Draco and pass him a secretive smile that showed how truly happy he was just because Draco had agreed to join him for lunch.

He shouldn’t be allowed to call Draco _Dray_ , no one had ever dared to do it or had successfully done it without incurring Draco Malfoy’s wrath, and Harry most certainly wasn’t allowed to say things like _this_ , wasn’t allowed to keep things unsaid, wasn’t allowed to keep Draco wondering about what he’d meant by that _with you_. But Draco thought about it. He thought about Potter’s engagement with She-Weasley and how, now that she was back, he would soon be getting married to her, and he realised that perhaps Potter’s _with you_ had simply been an offer for lunch, that Draco had been thinking about it too much, since it could most definitely not mean anything more. Could it?

“Did you tell She-Weasley about Aquies?” Draco asked after they were seated at the dining table. Aquies was sat next to Draco in his special seat that Mrs Weasley had brought along with her. Not only had she brought that along with her, she’d also brought along some baby food, which Mr Weasley had picked from a Muggle market and insisted was suitable for Muggle babies. The rest of the necessities along with baby toys and fitted clothes had been supplied by Draco’s own parents.

Molly Weasley had sadly informed them that she would’ve brought clothes along but she’d had no idea about the baby’s size and what clothes would therefore fit him. Draco had noticed the relieved expressions on his parents’ faces and wondered if they’d been thinking of the kind of clothes Molly would have bought for the baby. Draco, surprisingly found himself not caring about that at all and found the gesture quite touching, as well as the fact that she’d brought anything along with her at all. He’d expected his mother and father to buy him supplies for the baby but he had been able to tell how much the fact that Molly and Arthur had bought them supplies for Aquies had meant to Harry.

Harry nodded his head with a small smile. “Of course, and she loves him, so much that she said she wanted to take him with her to the Burrow.” Harry shook his head a little fondly, and Draco felt regret stirring within him. He shouldn’t have asked. “I told her she couldn’t and that he was strictly ours.” Harry’s smile turned into a grin as he referred to himself and Draco.

Draco had never felt as torn and confused about his emotions as he did right then. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to think, so he pushed back his emotions and feelings and ignored his heart as he let his mind do the talking. “Potter, now that She-Weasley is back, how is this going to work?”

Harry looked up, his fork halfway to his mouth and the noodles dangling from them. Draco hadn’t even touched his food. “What do you mean?” Potter could _not_ be serious.

“I mean the flat and Aquies,” Draco said, trying to control his voice. The day had been quite eventful but that still didn’t explain why Draco felt so angry and so close to losing his temper all of a sudden.

“Oh,” Harry said, looking as if he hadn’t thought about it at all, “Well, I guess our contract still has a couple of weeks until it expires so I’ll have to move out with Ginny after that, which means that you’ll have the whole flat to yourself.” Harry seemed focused on Draco, as if expecting a certain response from him, as if he were sure of Draco’s reaction. Perhaps he should have been.

Maybe after all of this time, he still expected Draco to feel joyful about having the flat all to himself and smug about finally winning against him. But Draco felt nothing. No sense of victory or achievement. All he felt was a dull, thudding ache in his heart. “As for Aquies, I’m thinking since we sort of have a joint custody over him maybe he could stay with you for certain days of the week and stay with me for the rest, or maybe we can move him every week…”

Harry continued to speak but Draco wasn’t listening to him. He was blankly staring at his plate of noodles and the fork lying next to it. The noodles looked delicious but Draco didn’t think that he was hungry anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

To say that Harry was worried about Draco would be an understatement, and to say that he was distracted by his worry for Draco would be even more so. Harry saw the way Draco had paled, could see the way the light in his eyes, the one that had been there when both their families had visited, had now dampened. He couldn’t tell what had caused it though, perhaps it was his job, but if there was one thing Harry knew, it was how much Draco loved it despite Killings’ behavior towards him.

Ever since the morning after Harry and Draco had found Aquies, Draco had been hurting and in pain, and Harry couldn’t help but notice every single time he was. He couldn’t help noticing every little flinch and tilt of his lips, every furrowing of his eyebrows and every tenseness of his shoulders. He wanted to make it all go away, he wanted Draco to speak to him, openly and fully. But most of all, in that moment, he wanted Draco to eat his goddamn noodles.

So he got up with a sigh and could feel Draco’s eyes following him as he sat down on the other side of Draco. Aquies’ baby food also lay on the table in front of him, just as forgotten as Aquies had been by Draco, which Harry realised meant that whatever problems Draco was suffering through, were only increasing in their amount and intensity.

Bringing Draco’s plate close to himself he twirled the fork, letting the noodles get swirled into it. Then he put a cautious hand under it and brought the fork with the noodles to Draco’s lips. Draco raised an eyebrow at him, and Harry swallowed. He wondered if Draco would ask him why, whether he would make Harry beg and plead with him to open his mouth, whether he’d taunt and tease Harry. And then Harry felt guilty because all Draco did was open his mouth and slowly close his lips around the noodles, wrapping his hand around Harry’s to keep the fork stable. Harry was both grateful and ungrateful for it. Grateful because his hand was shaking and the fork really did need to stay stable, he really did need help with that, and ungrateful because now Draco could feel his hand shaking.

Harry didn’t realise how intensely he’d been staring at Draco’s lips, or about how he’d slowly been leaning towards them until he saw Draco pulling his hand back and mouth away from the fork, and Harry was blinking. “I think I can do the rest of this by myself now, Potter. Thank you for reminding me how to eat noodles using a fork.”

“It’s still Potter?” Harry breathed, and he felt at dizzy being so close to Draco, he felt like he was losing some of his senses. “You’re still calling me that?”

“If I call you Harry, will you promise to go back and sit in your chair?” Harry tried not to feel disappointed at Draco’s response but as he kept the fork down and began to stand up, Draco held his wrist. “You’ve been Harry to me for a while now, _Harry._ ”

He nodded his head and stood up, not saying another word, his eyes still looking at Draco’s lips and going down to his neck, before they forced themselves to move up to his eyes.

He walked over to sit on the empty seat next to Aquies and started to feed him the baby food instead. His mind however, was stuck on Draco like it always was. Even when Draco had left the kitchen to go back to his room and Harry had been alone with Ginny, Harry’s mind had repeated Draco’s parting words over and over and over again.

 _“You alright, Dray?”_ _“Why do you care?”_

Ginny had realised that something was wrong and she’d asked Harry about it. Harry hadn’t been able to muster his uncaring expressions, not when all he could think about was Draco. “I’m worried about him, Gin,” he’d told her truthfully, “He isn’t acting like himself and I can’t figure out how to help him or make it better.”

She’d looked at Harry as if searching his face for something before she’d said, “You care for him don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Harry had responded in a tone that conveyed that it was a well-known fact rather than it being the opposite. _How can I not?_

Ginny had leaned back with a soft sigh, her eyes not leaving Harry as she’d spoken. “So many things have changed since I went off for the Quidditch tour, I feel like I’ve missed so much. Malfoy is one of those things. He has changed too, hasn’t he?”

And Harry’s response to her had been the same as his response to Hermione back at the Winter Gala. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gin. He’s still the same arsehole he’s always been.”

But he hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything other than that arsehole for the rest of the half an hour Ginny had been there. That had been what had led to her leaving. She’d kissed Harry on the cheek and made him promise to meet up with her when he wasn’t so worried over his new roommate or swamped with Auror cases, so he’d promised her that he would.

Here he was now doing the same thing, worried over the fucking prat while he ate the delicious noodles he had made, and Harry fed Aquies, who was surprisingly not being a pain and was being quite adorable if Harry was honest. “Are you ever going to tell me?” Harry’s voice cracked as he gazed at Draco, continuing to speak only when Draco met his gaze. “I just want to know, Dray. Are you ever going to tell me what’s bothering you?” Harry sounded pathetic right then. There he had been moments ago thinking Draco would make him beg and plead, but he had done nothing. Harry had begged and pleaded of his own accord.

“Potter,” Draco softly said and then paused as if being able to sense the emotions Harry felt, his disappointment at being called Potter again. “Harry,” he said, and Harry’s heart lurched at the way Draco said his name, the way it smoothly rolled off of his tongue and fell from his lips. He wanted to hear Draco saying it again and again and again forever. “How can I tell you what’s bothering me and what’s wrong when I don’t even know it myself?” Draco broke eye contact at that and fiddled with the fork within his grasp. “I’m sorry, Harry, but I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Harry could sense that there was something Draco wasn’t telling him, something that he was keeping from him, but he also knew that Draco was telling him the truth right then and all he could think about was how truly lost he was and how hopeless the situation was, because how could Harry possibly help Draco and make things alright when Draco didn’t even know what was bothering him in the first place.

“There’s something I need to ask you, Harry,” Draco said just as Harry was finishing up on feeding Aquies. He looked up when he saw Draco getting off of his chair and looming in front of them both.

“What is it?” Harry asked, confused. He couldn’t explain why his heart raced at that simple request from Draco.

“I have been invited to a museum exhibition which will be showing a rare collection of objects and antiquities from the wizarding world, and I was wondering whether you’d be interested in joining me.” Heat flamed Harry’s cheeks as he listened to Draco’s offer. It sounded a lot like he was asking Harry out for a date. Harry almost laughed at the way his mind worked and as his eyes were drawn to Draco’s face, he noticed the nervousness on it.

Harry kept the empty container of baby food to the side, wiping Aquies’ mouth gently with a wet wipe before he stood up and picked Aquies up in his arms to walked over to Draco. “Let me,” Draco said and took Aquies from Harry’s arms. Harry could again tell that although Draco’s focus seemed to be on Aquies, he wasn’t really paying attention to him and was clearly distracted.

Harry knew that Draco was waiting for his answer and stepped closer to Draco. “Will I have to wear a fancy suit to this exhibition?” he asked and Draco looked up at him.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Draco stumbled over his words, almost stuttering and Harry spotted the flush to his neck, slowly climbing up to his cheeks.

“What about my hair? What if I don’t want to tame it and just let it run wild,” Harry took another step closer.

Draco swallowed and looked back down at Aquies. “That–that’s alright, Potter. I’m sure nobody at the event will mind it much, or even notice it.”

“And what about,” Harry asked, taking another step forward, he was almost touching Draco. “What about Aquies? Can I bring him along with me for moral support?”

Draco’s eyebrows rose as his eyes met Harry’s again and Harry thought this was surely it, Draco would most certainly say no, but Harry was wrong, he didn’t. He choked out a quick, “Yes. Yes, whatever you want, Potter. You just have to show up.”

Harry stood inches away from Draco as he said, “What if I don’t want to show up?”

Draco’s eyes widened at that, and his face had completely flushed by then. Harry had never seen Draco like this, so lost for words, so nervous that he could barely get any words out of him, and so incredibly unsure and shy. He had always been very confident wherever Harry had been concerned, and it had been the same for Harry. He had always been very confident about Draco and his responses, but he shouldn’t have been since Draco had done nothing but prove him wrong and surprise him so far.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, Potter,” Draco suddenly said, and Harry didn’t like the way he lowered his eyes, or the slightly frown that marred his features, or the disappointment colouring his tone. Harry could tell the exact moment Draco was going to do that thing, the exact moment he was going to step back and pretend as if nothing had happened, as if his feelings hadn’t just been hurt.

He held Draco’s arm, being careful not to disturb Aquies who was in his arms and said, “But I want to.” Draco swallowed again as he glanced up at him, and Harry could see the sheer hope in Draco’s eyes. “I want to go to this museum exhibition with you and I want to wear one of those expensive suits with the fancy robes and I want to tame my hair.”

“And what about Aquies?” Draco asked, biting his lip. They started to walk towards Draco’s room, and Harry began to wonder if he could maybe bite Draco’s lip for him.

“We can leave Aquies with the Weasleys,” Harry said, and then quickly added as an afterthought, “or your parents, too, of course.”

Draco nodded his head in deep thought. “Mother and Father would be delighted to have him over.” Then he looked over at Harry. “Or–”

“No, no, we can keep him with Narcissa and Lucius. I’m fine with that. Besides, I’m sure that Molly and Arthur have their hands full with Ginny and the wedding.” Harry replied with a smile. He’d almost forgotten about the wedding. Draco halted in his steps, making Harry almost bump into him.

“The wedding? You’re getting married already?” Draco asked. He wasn’t looking at Harry and Harry couldn’t really place the expressions on Draco’s face. They were a mixture unlike any Harry had seen before.

“No, of course not. Ginny just came back, Dray. It isn’t my wedding, it’s Ron’s and Hermione’s. Why else do you think Ginny bothered to come back as soon as her matches were over? She could’ve stayed for longer.”

“Oh,” Draco blinked and resumed walking again. Harry searched his face, but the only expression clearly visible to him was one of relief. “Well, that makes sense I suppose.”

“You know,” Harry commented as they entered into Draco’s room, “I didn’t count on you giving in that easily.” Draco passed him a questioning look at that. “I mean the way you just agreed with everything I said as long as it meant that I would come with you to the museum exhibition.”

Harry grinned as the flush reappeared on Draco’s cheeks, and then grinned wider as Draco replied with a “Shut up, Potter.” He put Aquies, who was surprisingly still awake, onto his bed and still refused to meet Harry’s eyes.

“No, I mean it. I made requests I knew you wouldn’t agree with, and yet you agreed with them. I am very touched.” Harry made his tone sound mocking but the truth was that he was very touched. He was touched that Draco wanted Harry to come with him eagerly enough to agree with whatever disagreeable requests he had put forth. Harry liked him all the more for it, in fact.

Aquies let out a sound that sounded a lot like a complaint, and Draco sighed and sat down next to him. “What is it Aquies? What do you want?” His tone was gentle and understanding, and Harry wanted Draco to speak to him in that tone. Then he realised that Draco already had. So he wished that Draco would give him a chance and allow _him_ to speak to Draco in that tone.

“What does he want?” Harry asked lightly as he sat down next to Draco.

“He can’t sleep,” Draco said and then paused, and Harry could tell that he was thinking about something. “I think maybe he just needs me to read him a story, so that he can fall asleep. That’s what Father and Mother used to do when I wouldn’t fall asleep.”

Harry watched Draco wordlessly as he picked up a few children’s books from his collection laid out on the shelves. None of the books were Muggle. As Draco settled down properly on the bed, keeping Aquies on his lap, and chose a book of his choice to read out, Harry awkwardly stayed seated at the edge of Draco’s bed.

It wasn’t until Draco looked at him and asked, “Do you need an invitation, Potter?” that he stood up and went over to join Draco at the other end on the bed, leaning back into Draco’s pillow just like Draco had. He relaxed as soon as Draco gave him an approving smile.

Then Draco opened the book in his hands and began to read, and Harry was enthralled. The story talked of an adventurous wizard who was given a mission by the king, whose kingdom he lived in, to slay a dangerous fire-breathing dragon. The wizard had to travel long distances, through deep jungles that contained terrifying creatures, and trek along cold mountains where he could barely see what was around him. It was through great difficulty that he finally reached the cave that contained the dragon and also a hoard of gold coins. They reflected off of the edges of the cave and the dragon’s smooth scales.

“So the wizard entered the cave,” Draco said, his voice suspenseful, “only to–” and he suddenly took a pause.

“Only to what?” Harry questioned quizzically, and as Draco passed him an amused look, he realised why Draco had stopped reading. Aquies had fallen asleep on Draco’s lap. Harry could feel himself getting embarrassed, could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks, and he opened his mouth to speak, to tell Draco that he probably should go to his room and get some sleep since Draco wasn’t going to continue reading the book now.

Before he could though, Draco spoke. “Shall I continue reading on, Potter, or is there something you would like to say? I won’t accept any more interruptions while reading my story.”

Harry looked at Draco surprised, but nodded his head. As Draco continued to read, his eyes slowly started to droop, his body shifting slowly towards Draco’s warmth and the sound of his voice and head tilting towards Draco’s shoulder until his eyes fully closed and sleep took him over.

 

* * *

 

 

“Potter, it is almost time. What is taking you so long?” Draco asked and gave a loud, exaggerated sigh. Potter had been rotting inside his room for more than an hour. Even Draco didn’t take that long to get ready on his best day, he had to admit.

“It’s Harry,” Harry shouted from inside his room, and Draco rolled his eyes heavenwards.

“It won’t be anything if you do not get your fucking arse outside right now, you lazy prat,” Draco replied. He looked at the wall clock, they had five minutes left, what was taking the git so long? Draco got his answer as soon as the door to Harry’s room opened and out strode Harry wearing a fitted custom made suit, much like Draco’s own, and pristine robes.

Draco most certainly did not slide an appreciative glance over them and his eyes did not halt to take in the appearance of his hair, which seemed almost similar to the way Draco had styled them before, but better. As his eyes hovered on Harry’s face, he saw the shy grin that made its way onto Harry’s lips, his green eyes brightening as they fell on Draco.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, “Ginny and Luna helped me find a spell for my hair.”

Draco didn’t have to ask Harry about where he’d bought his clothes from because they’d gone out together to shop for them. They had kept Aquies with She-Weasley on Harry’s insistence, which meant that they’d had to drop him off at the Burrow, before continuing on to go buy Potter some quality outfits.

Draco had thought that he’d have to fight Potter _physically_. He’d thought that much like a leech, Potter would most probably latch onto the most disapproving clothes Draco would ever have laid his eyes on. He’d thought that Potter would be difficult and they’d have to argue over buying every little thing.

This however was not the case. Potter was nothing during that trip if not extremely agreeable and a little too easy, which although it had been a very good thing, had also made Draco quite uncomfortable. Harry had not complained once and had tried on every piece of clothing Draco had made him, gone to every store Draco had pointed at.

There had been no hassle and no disagreements as Draco had told Harry which outfits had suited him best. Harry had bought them without blinking an eye. They had gone to Muggle stores to buy all of the shirts, suits and ties since thanks to Millicent and Daphne, he could now appreciate, along with Blaise and Theo, a good, branded, Muggle suit. However, he had still felt more comfortable being surrounded by wizards as they had walked straight to one of Draco’s favourite shops to get Potter some expensive robes for the exhibition after that.

It was a high-end museum exhibition and only very few and select, well-known wizards who were known to be appreciative of such works had been invited. Draco would have qualified as such once upon a time.

What had made him more uncomfortable than the agreeableness had been the way he had caught Harry staring at him the entire time. Every time he had looked at Harry, he’d found Harry looking right back at him with expressions that had stirred something deep within Draco’s stomach and his heart. And every time he had caught Harry staring, Harry had either looked away with a red tint to his cheeks, he’d looked down and pretended to be doing something else entirely, or he’d kept on staring with the most dreamy expressions on his face, completely unaware of the fact that Draco had been staring right back at him.

Draco couldn’t explain why this heart had leapt from his chest whenever he’d made eye contact with Harry, or why his breath had caught in his throat at the way Harry had looked at him. He hadn’t realised why he’d found himself looking back at Harry every five minutes and why he kept thinking that the expressions on Harry’s face weren’t that different from his own.

He remembered a few nights ago when he’d read a bedtime story to Aquies from one of his favourite childhood books. It still was one of his most favourite ones. Not only had it managed to successfully lull Aquies to sleep, but it’d had the same effect on Harry. Harry had slept with his head on Draco’s shoulder, letting out soft snores with his body close to Draco’s and leaning against it. Draco had had the most intense urge to push Harry’s hair away from his forehead to kiss it and when he had gone ahead to do so, Harry had suddenly shifted to the side, wrapping both his arms around Draco’s one.

This had resulted in Draco kissing Harry’s cheek and a blush had risen onto his cheeks as he had quickly pulled away. His jerky movements must have been what had woken Harry up, but he had only murmured out a soft, “Draco,” and Draco had frozen. “The dragon in the cave,” he’d said sleepily, and Draco hadn’t dared to breathe or move. “It sounds like you, and the brave and adventurous wizard sounds like me.”

The story of the wizard and the dragon had ended with the wizard finding out that the dragon wasn’t scary or dangerous. In fact, it was quiet friendly, loving, and kind, and it had been the people’s greediness, ones who had travelled high and low in search of gold coins, that had resulted in them facing the dragon’s wrath. It hadn’t taken the wizard very long after that to figure out that the king had only wanted him to kill the dragon so that he could be free to inherit all of the gold coins kept in the cave. So the wizard had refused to kill the dragon and they had lived happily ever after in his cave, both of them protecting the gold coins.

“And Aquies,” Harry had continued, “Aquies is the gold coins that we have to protect.” Draco hadn’t known what to say, Harry’s words going around Draco’s head along with the ‘ _and they had lived happily ever after’_.

That had been what had made Draco let out a soft, “I wish I was, Potter.” Because sure maybe Draco was the dragon living in that cave and sure maybe Potter was the wizard who had searched out for him, and maybe Aquies was the hoard of gold coins found stored in that cave, but there was no happily ever after for Potter and him. He was getting married to Ginny, which meant that the ending to their story was quite different. In this version of the story, the wizard may as well have killed the dragon, stabbed him repeatedly in his chest until he died of pain, and then stolen the gold coins from him and run away to live his own happily ever after.

But Draco wasn’t mad about it. He didn’t mind because that was clearly what the dragon deserved, and perhaps the dragon had expected this to happen, for a wizard who was going to be its destruction to come along and destroy it, because who else would be a better candidate than the Boy Who Lived to absolutely tear down the dragon’s heart?

“It’s Harry,” Potter had said, albeit incredibly sleepily. “Always Harry. I like the way you say my name, and I like you.”

Draco’s heart had thundered in his chest, as he had admitted to an almost asleep Potter, “I like you too, Harry.”

“Hmmm,” Harry had shifted in his sleep and made himself more comfortable sleeping on Draco’s side. “G’night, Dray.”

He’d called Draco Dray again. Why did he keep doing that? “Goodnight, Harry.” And Draco hadn’t had the strength or the heart to move Harry away from him and risk disturbing his sleep, or to put Aquies onto his bed and risk waking him up. It’d had nothing to do, of course, with the fact that Draco had enjoyed his close proximity with Harry. Nothing at all.

Draco came back to the present only when Harry cleared his throat with a slight frown. Draco realised that Harry had been waiting for his answer all this time. “I’m impressed, Potter. I never knew that you could clean up this nicely.” It would’ve been far too easy to tell Harry that he didn’t look too bad. He deserved a genuine compliment after how complacent he’d been during their shopping trip and how hard he’d worked to make himself look good tonight. “You look good, Potter,” he said with a slight cough.

Harry gave him a wide smile. “Yeah? Well you look dashing, Draco, and fucking handsome, but I’m sure you already knew that. Also, it’s _Harry_.”

He wasn’t going to call Harry _Harry_. He wasn’t. Just like he wasn’t going to register _Harry_ ’s compliment to him. _Dashing and fucking handsome._

“Very well, _Potter_. Shall we go?” Harry shook his head and simply walked ahead of Draco so he could hold the door open for him.

“You first, _Malfoy_ ,” he said and Draco refused to let his heart flutter at the gesture or the use of his last name. _This is not a date_ , he told himself strictly _, it is simply an invitation for Potter to join me as my plus one, just as I did for his Gala. I am showing him my gratitude, saying my thanks._

_It is not a date. Not a date._

 

* * *

 

 

It was not a date, but it felt a lot like one, Harry thought to himself. They had arrived at the museum only for Harry to be swept off by Draco to a part of the museum where ornate and rare magical objects were being showcased. Harry hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of Draco for long enough to look around himself at all of the objects hanging or being exhibited in a glass box or a frame, not when Draco kept telling Harry about the history and all of the wonderful details of those very objects.

Draco was in his element at the exhibition, much like he had been at the Winter Gala, and Harry stood back, or when Draco insisted or called to him, by his side as he engaged in intelligent conversations with intellectual people. Harry heard Draco critiquing a painting which held deep meaning and referred to some historical events which had taken place in the wizarding world, and discussing it with a famous personality as if he did it every single day.

They went to another part of the museum, where there were only paintings and statues present, but even the most interesting of statues and colourful of paintings could not grab Harry’s attention. He was looking at Draco, who laughed as he held a mostly full wine glass in his hand. Harry had been keeping an eye on Draco’s consumption of wine this time, and he had surprisingly not had more than a sip of it.

As Harry finally forced himself to look around, he thought of Aquies and how surprised Narcissa and Lucius had seemed when Draco and Harry had told them that they’d be keeping Aquies with them for the night. Narcissa had delightfully thanked Harry, and Lucius hadn’t looked as if he’d be capable of a response. When he had eventually thanked Harry, however, it had been heartfelt, which had led Harry to believe that maybe he was thanking Harry for a lot more than just Aquies.

“Enjoying your surroundings, Potter?” Draco asked and almost made Harry jump as he appeared next to him.

Harry sighed and wondered if he’d have to spend the entire night correcting Draco. He had refused to call Harry anything but Potter in the last few days, and Harry couldn’t figure out why. “It’s Harry, Draco, you know that, and yes, I really am enjoying myself.” He really was enjoying watching Draco having fun and enjoying himself.

Draco raised an eyebrow challengingly. “Oh you are, are you?” He asked teasingly, so Harry had to prove him wrong, didn’t he now? As Harry’s eyes searched the several pieces of exhibition, his gaze fell on a statue and halted. The statue seemed to be dramatically draped across a piece of ancient furniture which Harry could say closely resembled a sofa.

A small smile grew on his lips as he replied enthusiastically. “Absolutely, Draco. In fact, here, look at this statue,” Harry said and pointed at the statue which had held his attention for so long. He pulled Draco towards it, quite like Draco had been pulling Harry in, except in Draco’s case it had been his passion and his words that had pulled Harry in and in Harry’s case, he pulled Draco towards the statue quite physically. “Does it remind you of something, Draco?”

Draco narrowed his eyes as he looked the statue up and down and then turned to Harry. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Potter?”

“ _Harry_ ,” Harry reminded him. “And you know what this reminds me of? When you got so wine drunk after the Winter Gala that you draped yourself on our sofa _exactly_ like this man here and thought that you were being attacked by your tie and that my name was weirder than your own. Draco fucking Malfoy, ladies and gentlemen.”

“What the– shut up, Potter,” Draco hissed, glancing desperately around him as Harry chuckled. His fair complexion had turned a deep red and made Harry want to gently stroke Draco’s cheek with the back of his hand. “That never happened.”

“It did actually, and I won’t shut up until you call me Harry.” Then as if to prove his point, he pulled Draco towards an isolated corner of the museum where there was only one painting. “Hey, Dray, doesn’t this look like you after you’d spilled all of that Starbucks coffee–what was it? A cappuccino?–on yourself and you looked like you’d pissed your–mmph!”

Harry’s mouth was covered by Draco’s hand as he stepped close to Harry, unknowingly backing Harry into a corner. Harry hadn’t noticed Draco keeping his wine glass anywhere and didn’t know where that had disappeared off to, but he knew that he couldn’t concentrate on much with Draco’s hands on him–his other one gently cupping Harry’s neck–and with Draco’s body so close to his.

“Harry, please,” Draco softly pleaded, and all of Harry’s breath collectively left his body. “Stop.” As Draco’s hands left Harry’s body, Harry nodded dizzily, high on the bodily contact and high on Draco’s tone and the way he said Harry’s name. He loved the way it rolled out of Draco’s lips and loved the look that shown in Draco’s eyes, the urgency as he said it. It made him feel that _way_ once again, but he didn’t want to contemplate it or figure out what it was.

He finally let himself reach out and gently touch the back of his hand to Draco’s cheek, relishing in the feel of it and the heat he felt gathering along Draco’s cheeks. He straightened up as he noticed the small amount of distance between them. He wanted to cross that distance.

He dropped his hand. “Is there any other part of the museum that we haven’t been to?” Harry almost croaked out, his lips felt as dry as his throat when he spoke.

“There are quite a few, Potter, and we should be able to visit them all if you keep up with me,” Draco said, promptly stepping back. His eyes were still bright, cheeks still flushed, and as he started to walk, Harry followed him, choosing not to correct Draco this time. He let himself be called Potter, let the tension between them stay.

 

* * *

 

 

Time passed quicker than either of them had anticipated and before they could realise it, they were standing in front of the door to their flat. The food had been delicious, the company entertaining, and although they hadn’t left each other’s sides for the rest of the night, they hadn’t needed to. Draco hadn’t drunk a single drop of wine, and Harry had kept up polite conversations with whoever he’d come across.

One thing he had loved had been the fact that no one had treated him as someone special, as The Boy Who Lived. They had treated him as one of their own, and so the conversations had been genuinely pleasant, and sometimes even more than that, which was something that Harry hadn’t counted on. He had hoped that he would enjoy himself. He had known that he would love to go to an exhibition in a wizarding museum since he had never been to one before, but he had never realised just how much he would love it.

The only reason he had agreed to go had been because he’d wanted to spend time with Draco but the evening had turned into so much more than that. Harry had listened to Draco and the people and conversations happening around him. He had looked around and learned so much more about the wizarding world than he ever had before. He had even appreciated the classical music that had played in the background and had begun humming it when he’d been getting served his dinner. Draco had slid an amused glance at him before he’d continued talking to whoever it was that he’d been talking to. Harry had truly wanted the night to never end.

So as they stood in front of the door to their flat, Harry turned to Draco. He knew what he would find inside as soon as he would open the door, they both did. It would be Lucius, Narcissa, and Aquies. “I really enjoyed tonight,” Harry said. “I enjoyed spending time with you and getting to know the history of the wizarding world and looking at all of those cool objects and talking to all of those cool people.”

He stopped speaking as Draco’s laughter interrupted him. “Only you, Potter,” Draco said with a chuckle, “could call a museum exhibition like this one _cool_.”

Harry glared at Draco but his smile gave him away. “Oh shut up, _Malfoy_.”

“As you say, _Harry_.” Draco grinned at him and then said, “I enjoyed spending the night with you, too.”

And as they gazed and looked deeply into each other’s eyes, their breathing irregular and hearts caught in their throats, they couldn’t help but both feel as if they were supposed to do something, as if they were missing a part of a ritual perhaps, a proper way to end the night. As they both faced forwards and pushed open the door to their home, they couldn’t help but think that the only way to signify the end of a date was with a kiss.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry was out on a date with Ginny. He was out on an actual date with her. The morning after he’d gone to the exhibition with Draco, he’d called Ginny and asked her to go out on a date with him. She had sounded excited, and when she’d asked what had prompted Harry into asking her out, he’d told her that they’d never gone out on a date before. They should at least go out on a date before they get married.

He was walking with Ginny, his hand in hers while she talked about the Quidditch Tour and how much fun she’d had competing with the other teams. Luna had gone with her to cheer for her and support her, and Ginny talked about how she wished Harry would’ve been there to see her perform. Harry smiled and went to tell her that he wished he’d been there with her too, but his voice got stuck in his throat. He wouldn’t wish away the time he’d spent with Draco or his moments with Aquies for the world.

They were going to a Muggle ice cream van which stood some distance away from the Burrow. He remembered how during his stay at the Burrow he used to go there all the time with Ginny and a few other members of the Weasley clan. The members used to change, but Ginny used to be a constant. They all used to have ice cream together and talk about their years at Hogwarts and what had being going on in their lives, catching up on what they had missed. He and Ron always used to tell stories about incidents that had taken place during their Auror Training and complain about their teachers there.

It felt different this time around, maybe because he was going with Ginny alone, maybe because it was a date, maybe because he couldn’t stop thinking about Draco, and how he’d left him at home alone with Aquies. Harry didn’t know why, but he couldn’t forget the way Draco’s face had dropped when Harry had told him about his plan to go out on a date with Ginny. He’d been right, Harry had said. He had to go out on a date with Ginny before he got married to her.

Draco had mumbled something about hoping he had fun and enjoyed the ice cream, but Harry hadn’t heard anything that had come out of his mouth clearly. He had looked into Draco’s eyes and seen pain there that was unlike any he’d ever seen before, and Harry had felt torn. He’d wanted to cancel his date immediately and stay home with Draco. He’d wanted to go to that ice cream place _with Draco_ , to find a way to make him feel better. But he couldn’t, not when Draco just kept pushing himself away from Harry.

Harry couldn’t want Draco to be with him when he was engaged to Ginny. He was supposed to want to be with Ginny, he was getting _married_ to her, but whenever he closed his eyes, instead of seeing the image of Ginny and their kids like he used to, all he saw was Draco. Draco smiling and laughing at Harry’s expense, Draco smirking confidently before doing something he knew he was good at, Draco talking to Harry with his tone soft and a slightly vulnerable expression on his face, Draco making a fool of himself and getting embarrassed. Him blushing and muttering a ‘shut up, Potter’, him saying ‘ _Harry_ ’, him touching Harry and coming close. Harry swallowed. All he saw was Draco.

Then there was Aquies. The tiny baby had come to mean so much to Harry. He had been skeptical about Aquies in the beginning, hesitant and unsure about accepting him into his and Draco’s home, but now he couldn’t imagine his life without Aquies in it. He had become such an important part of Harry’s life.

Harry couldn’t even imagine living somewhere away from Draco anymore and not seeing him, not having dinner with him or sharing horrid remarks about their jobs and bosses and bantering about every single thing or irritating him. He couldn’t imagine his life after marrying Ginny, couldn’t imagine anyone replacing the special place in his heart that was only held by Draco.

Then he wondered what he was doing, thinking about Draco while Ginny spoke about the one thing that meant most to her. He shook himself as they came to a stop and he ordered his ice cream. It was almost natural for him to order a mint chocolate chip cookie ice cream with his regular chocolate flavoured one. Draco loved mint choco-chip cookie ice cream. He barely just stopped himself and let Ginny order her strawberry flavoured one.

He wondered which flavor of ice cream Aquies would prefer, his or Draco’s. Of course it would be Harry’s, only a fool would prefer Draco’s. Then he smiled at the thought of going home and arguing with Draco about this. As he sat with Ginny, he thought about having fallen asleep on Draco’s shoulder and having been woken up to find himself almost curled up around Draco’s side. He thought about when he’d gone shopping with Draco and hadn’t been able to say no to Draco, hadn’t stopped himself from wanting more, from buying the best of the best, hadn’t resisted the urge to get what he had wanted.

It had felt blissful, the experience and shopping with Draco. Draco had known and been sure of what to get Harry and what he had to try on in every single shop they had gone to. Harry had been overwhelmed to say the least, but he had trusted Draco and had seen it through with him. It had been the best decision Harry had ever made.

He licked at his ice cream and let Ginny’s words wash over him, remembering the way Draco had read out the story of the wizard and the dragon, remembering how he’d let _Draco’s_ words wash over him and lull him to sleep. He remembered thinking about his own happily ever after, and not once had it occurred to him that his happily ever after contained Ginny in it. He’d only thought of the happily ever after that he had _wanted_.

As Harry finished eating the last bit of his cone, he stared frustratedly at his hands wondering what was wrong with him. Why could he not stop thinking about Draco, why wasn’t he interested in Ginny anymore? He blinked and shook his head as he tried to gather his thoughts together. He still felt the same way about her as he always had; of course he loved her, and he loved spending time with her, wanted to be with her. He didn’t know what his problem was, he didn’t know why he felt as if that wasn’t enough anymore.

When Harry dropped Ginny off at the entrance to the Burrow, and she looked over at him expectantly, he smiled and kissed her lightly on her cheek. She put an arm around his neck to hug him in response and kissed him back on his cheek. As Harry hugged her back, he couldn’t help the way his throat clenched tightly. He was so lost and confused and he didn’t know what was happening or why it was happening.

He felt as if he was suffocating, as if he couldn’t breathe. He was on his way back home before he knew it, and it took all of his self-control not to start running or sprinting, because all he wanted to do in that moment was to see Draco. He wanted Draco and he wanted to figure out what he felt for Draco. He wanted to hold Aquies in his arms and touch his tiny hands and boop his little nose.

He practically tore down the door to his and Draco’s flat and looked around, but Draco and Aquies were nowhere to be seen. Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, the Auror in him staying on high alert as he resisted the urge to call out to them. If there was someone else in the house, he didn’t want to alert them to his activities. But he need not have worried because there was no intruder in his house, and he realised it as soon as he opened the door to his own room.

Because seated on the extended window sill, with his cheek smooshed against the window and with Aquies on his lap, was Draco fucking Malfoy. Harry didn’t have to go near him to know that Draco was fast asleep, and so was Aquies. For a few moments, he just stood there looking at Draco as his chest rose and fell, as his lips parted to let out soft breaths. Then Harry’s gaze dropped down to Draco’s hands, which held onto Aquies loosely yet firmly, and Harry suddenly felt breath returning to his lungs.

He gently took Aquies from Draco and as Draco stirred, his eyelids opening to reveal slight grey slits, Harry put a reassuring hand on his arm. “It’s just me, Draco. Go back to sleep.” And he shouldn’t have been, but he was surprised when Draco did just that. Harry swallowed and stared for a moment before he kept Aquies carefully onto his bed and put up a few basic safety charms he’d heard Draco enforcing around Aquies.

Then he turned his attention to Draco and he wondered how he hadn’t seen it before, how he could’ve been so blinded by his ideals and his need and want for the perfect loving family–a white picket fence, with two children and a wife–that he could never in a million years have seen this coming. He hadn’t been oblivious, he had known that there had been something going on between him and Draco, that what they had was different from anything he’d ever felt before, unlike anything he’d ever experienced. That Draco had always been able to pull a wide range and the highest intensity of emotions from Harry, but he had labeled it as something else entirely.

He had pushed his emotions and feelings for Draco away, thought of them as ones that you felt for an enemy turned friend. He scoffed at that and sat down opposite Draco, looking at him. He’d never thought of Draco as a friend _ever_. He had never _once_ associated the word to Draco or to their relationship. They hadn’t ever been enemies either. Sure the animosity between them could never have been mistaken as anything else, but they had never been enemies.

Denial, Harry thought, was what it had been, and ignorance. He had ignored the feelings that had been stirring within him for Draco for so long that he had pretended like they hadn’t existed. He had been engaged to Ginny and accidentally bumping into his former rival had been nothing but a coincidence.

Now here he was, weeks later and he was still engaged to Ginny, but everything had changed. Harry leaned forwards with a sigh and shook Draco. “Hey, Dray, get up.” Draco moaned softly and turned around so that his entire face was smooshed against the glass window. Harry chuckled as he attempted to pull Draco up into a standing position. “Alright, come on, Draco. We have to get you to your bed so you can sleep properly.”

Draco groaned, refusing to stir and Harry almost fell backwards as Draco leaned into him, pushing his face into Harry’s shoulder. Harry gave up right then and decided that there was no way he was getting Draco to his own bed if he didn’t have any intention of helping Harry out, even a little bit. So Harry stumbled and pulled them both towards _his_ bed, almost falling as Draco’s arms suddenly enveloped him. Draco’s breath hit Harry’s neck as he let out a soft, “Harry.”

Harry forgot how to function, he had no clue how he managed to get them both safely onto his bed, but it had resulted in Draco sleeping almost on top of Harry, with his arms still around him. This had Harry shifting them to their sides and Draco sidling up to him. “Hey, Draco,” Harry said, pushing his fingers softly through Draco’s hair so that it would stay away from his face. He wanted to see Draco’s face more clearly.

Apparently, though, Draco didn’t want that because he pushed his face deeper into Harry’s shoulder. Harry chuckled lightly as he carded his fingers through Draco’s soft and fluffy hair. “Mmmm,” Draco complained, but about what, Harry still had to figure out. “Don’ stop.”

Harry swallowed, his eyes blurring as he promised, “I won’t. I won’t, Dray.” What was he doing? Harry was engaged to Ginny, he was going to get married to her, and yet here he was stroking Draco’s hair. He continued doing it anyway because what good was a wizard who lived in his kingdom unaware and happy? What point was there if that wizard did not have a mission or a meaning to his life, if he did not get to seek out the dragon in the cave and travel to it, if only to find out the truth? What good would that wizard be without Draco Malfoy by his side?

 

* * *

 

 

Harry woke up the next day morning cuddled up to a still asleep Draco. He pushed himself up off the bed and stood up after carefully untangling his limbs from Draco’s body, and Draco’s limbs from his. As he walked out into the kitchen, he was surprised to find an owl hovering nearby. It hooted at Harry as soon as he neared it and Harry sighed, feeding it owl treats and watching it fly away.

When he turned around to face the kitchen counter, he spotted the newspaper lying there face-down, and realised why the owl had suddenly shown up at his house. He unfolded it, not knowing what to expect and hoping that he hadn’t made the front page news this time. Clearly that had been too much to hope for, but this time instead of Ginny, it was Aquies who appeared in the headlines with him.

‘Harry Potter spotted near the Ministry building with a baby.’ Harry snorted at it, managing to keep his cool. What made his blood boil was the moving picture that had captured Harry standing outside the Ministry building, distressed by the Ministry officials’ inability to handle Aquies’ situation properly. He was holding Aquies close to his chest in that picture, looking a lot more vulnerable, and his face revealing a lot more expressions than he would’ve liked.

He had the urge to throw the paper directly into the dustbin but decided to wait until he showed the news to Draco. Draco would surely get mad and be even angrier than Harry. This was about Aquies after all, and someone stalking and taking pictures of a baby like that was absolutely unacceptable.

Harry wondered if Draco had been the one who had subscribed to the _Daily Prophet_ on a weekly basis. Harry had unsubscribed from every single newspaper he knew of, so unless it was someone from outside their house providing them this weekly delivery of the newspaper, it had to be Draco. He probably got a free delivery of it since he worked there. Harry sometimes forgot that they both had to work and had full time jobs. They usually had one of their friends or family come to their house to take care of Aquies when they were away, or they left him at the Burrow or the Malfoy Manor on occasions.

Ron and Hermione had taken the entire week off in preparations for their wedding. They had been preparing for months, and Ginny arriving a week ago had been extremely helpful, but with the wedding so close, it had become a necessity for them to have to ask for a leave, at least temporarily. They had, however, been in desperate need of a break, a few hours away from the stress and panic of preparing for a wedding, so Harry had offered them a much needed reprieve and called them over to his house to take care of Aquies. Both Ron and Hermione had jumped at the chance, which had left Harry and Draco free to leave the house and go to their respective workplaces.

Harry started to make tea, deciding to fry some eggs and bacon along with it because he was in that kind of a mood. It was surprising how happy he was despite having just read the news that had featured him and Aquies. He was sure that it had something to do with Draco and the realisation that he had come to the day before.

He should have been feeling horrified. He had a fiancee. He was engaged to her and getting married to her. But just knowing what he felt for Draco, in spite of not knowing whether those the feelings were reciprocated, was such an immense relief and a profound discovery, that he couldn’t find it in himself to feel any other emotions for the time being.

_“Is it worth it? Is it worth losing out on loving someone because you’re scared you’ll never be loved, scared you don’t deserve to be loved?”_

‘No, Draco. It isn’t. It never was, and it never will be. I was wrong about this, I was wrong about everything.’

 

* * *

 

 

Draco woke up to an empty bed that was most certainly not his own. It was still familiar though, and it took some time for Draco to place exactly whose it was. It was Potter’s bed. What was he doing sleeping in Harry Potter’s bed? The last thing he could remember doing was creeping into Potter’s room with Aquies and staring out of the glass window. He remembered how everything had suddenly seemed so clear to him. His actions when it came to Harry, the dull ache he felt when he thought of She-Weasley.

He was a fool, an absolute idiot, to have let himself get so close to Potter. He had known that Potter was engaged to She-Weasley from the very beginning, had known that his feelings for Potter had always been intense, no matter which direction they had gone in in the past. Draco had remembered the moments he had spent in school, during his trials, and afterwards, fighting his attraction to the Boy Who Lived. It had been three years since he had last seen Potter, and he had been doing well. He had _not_ been looking at all of the newspaper clippings, had _not_ been reading all of the articles about him.

Everything had gone to hell when he had actually _met_ Harry, when he had agreed to live in the same flat as Harry. It had never been about winning, had never been about their rivalry. It had always been about living in close proximity with Harry. He had been doing so well at keeping his distance from everyone, at never letting anyone get too close to him. He had known the moment Harry had forced himself into Draco’s life, that it wouldn’t take long for the attraction he felt towards Harry to turn into more.

It wasn’t exactly fair to say that Harry had forced Draco to do anything, though, since Draco hadn’t tried hard enough to push Harry away. He had not once done anything but encourage Harry’s advances on him. Those advances may have just been because of friendship, but Draco’s advances on him hadn’t been. The invitation to the museum exhibition _had_ been a date, the interior decorating of Harry’s room, the Auror training area in the basement had been a gift. His invitation for Harry to use his Jacuzzi, and wanting to stargaze with him, wanting to play his guitar and piano for Harry, wanting to teach him how to dance, even letting Harry meet his parents, repeatedly. Draco realised that all of those things had never been simply platonic. He had made Potter breakfast for fuck’s sake!

He had been courting Potter all along, but it had taken far too long for him to realise it. It wasn’t until the moment Potter had told him the day before that he was taking She-Weasley out on a date, that Draco had realised how truly and deeply he had let himself get involved with Potter. He should’ve stopped it, should’ve pulled himself away and should’ve pushed Potter away when he’d had the chance. But for the first time in his life, he hadn’t wanted to. Potter had always made Draco do things that he had never done before, had always made Draco lose his self-control.

Looking out of Potter’s window had been more than eye-opening, it had dealt him a round of pain which had been worse than the pain he’d felt when Voldemort had given him the Dark Mark. Draco lifted the sleeve of his shirt to glance at the Mark and all he could remember was the way Harry had brushed his thumb across it. He shuddered as he imagined Harry’s lips touching and softly dragging across the skin…. He quickly shook that thought away, pulling down his sleeve and getting off of the bed. He remembered the amount of times he’d told Potter he liked him and wondered if during any of those times, he had meant it in just a friendly way.

As he walked out of Potter’s room, he made up his mind. He wasn’t going to put himself in greater pain, wasn’t going to get involved with Potter anymore. He was simply going to keep to himself and wait for their contract to be over. But even if their contract got over and Potter got married to She-Weasley, and he moved on from Draco, and even Aquies, Draco didn’t know if he ever could.

 “ _Tell me, Draco. Is it better to love someone or is it better to be loved by someone?”_

‘I do not know, Potter. I only know that unrequited love hurts a great deal more when it is you doing the loving. So maybe you were right in choosing to marry Ginny Weasley. I just wish… _that it had been me instead._ ’

 

* * *

 

 

Going to the wedding ceremony without Draco felt like losing a limb. Harry stood in front of the mirror, trying to correctly tie up his tie, while Draco sat in the room adjacent to his, working on his articles. Harry sighed and gave up, pushing his hands through his hair. They curled around his fingers as if not wanting to let go. Harry closed his eyes and remembered the conversation he’d had with Draco almost a week ago.

He had been waiting for Draco to wake up so that he could show Draco the news that had been printed on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ , but instead of getting angry at the headlines like Harry had expected him to, and instead of demanding to know who this anonymous writer was, instead of threatening to march into the _Daily Prophet_ and wring someone’s neck, Draco’s eyes stayed stuck on the photo he had seen. He hadn’t looked away from it once.

“You should be more careful, Potter. It looks like you were being followed,” Draco had said, and Harry had frowned because that wasn’t something new. It had been happening for a long time and people around him always got affected by it in the most negative ways. “If not for yourself then at least for Aquies. Although I don’t know if you care for him anymore.”

Harry had halted at that and looked over at Draco. “What is that supposed to mean?” Draco had simply shrugged and flung the _Prophet_ into the trash can. A flair of confusion had made its way into Harry’s mind. He hadn’t known what to make of Draco’s response. “You know that I care about Aquies, Draco. Why would you say that?” Harry had never given Draco or anyone else the impression that he didn’t care for Aquies. Sure he had been a bit difficult in the beginning, but that had been quite some time ago.

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco had said and Harry had felt like banging his own head against the wall. He hated that response. ‘I’m fine’ ‘It doesn’t matter’ ‘I don’t care’. He wanted Draco to give him a straight response and just once tell Harry what was wrong. What had he done wrong?

“You know what?” Harry had slammed both mugs of tea onto the counter and stood in front of Draco with his eyes blazing. “I am done. I am so sick and tired of you giving me half-arsed responses. So sick of you not telling me what’s fucking wrong with you and why the fuck you’re acting like this! I want to know what’s causing you so much pain Draco. Is it me? Have I done something? If it is then please just say so. I promise I’ll try to fix whatever it is, but please don’t do this. Please don’t be like this.”

Harry’s clenched fists had opened up and his arms, which had been flailing all around the place as he had tried to express his emotions, had limply stood at his sides. He had hoped that his words would have an effect on Draco and work in making Draco open up to him, but he had been wrong. It hadn’t worked at all.

“I told you Potter, it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re going to get married to She-Weasley and then you’ll move out of here. You’ll leave, so it doesn’t matter if you give a fuck, Potter, because nothing matters anymore.”

Draco had taken his mug and plate into his room, making Harry collapse against the counter. Harry hadn’t had the heart to go after him and ask him about coming to Ron and Hermione’s wedding after that, he hadn’t had the heart to do anything after that. He’d mechanically had his breakfast and then gone to his room to change into his Auror uniform and robes before going to the Ministry.

The rest of the week had been a blur. It had seemed as if the people at work could sense what he was feeling and his cases for the entire week had been easy. But for the first time since he had joined the Auror force, he had wished for a difficult case, something to get his mind off of Draco. As if that hadn’t been bad enough, the negative feelings that had refused to come to him after his realisation, had hit him with full force during that week.

The guilt of what he’d done to Ginny, what he _was_ doing to her, and would be doing to her. The regret of not having seen this coming before, of having denied his feelings for Draco because of his own insecurities. He had _known_ that Ginny loved him and that had been all that had mattered. Of course this had meant that Harry had loved Ginny too, hadn’t it?

He sighed again, looking down at his rumpled mess of a suit and then up at his rumpled mess of hair. He needed Draco’s help. There was no way around it. He just had to ask for Draco’s help. Taking a deep breath, he barged into Draco’s room. Draco looked at the door with his eyes wide open, shuffling his articles away from his desk frantically, before standing up and wavering on his feet. Harry didn’t give him a chance to speak. “I need your help with this,” he said, pointing at himself.

Draco scanned Harry from head to toe and then stared into his eyes for the longest time before he opened his mouth. “Honestly, Potter. I don’t even know where to begin,” he said, and although he tried, he could not hide the slight smirk on his lips. They twitched and gave him away.

And that was how, as Harry stepped towards Draco, he knew that they were alright, knew that they were going to be alright. After Harry attended the wedding, he was going to come back and talk to Draco, tell him how he felt and get Draco to somehow open up. For now though, Harry had things he had to do in the wedding. He needed to talk to Hermione and Ron, but most importantly, he had to talk to Ginny and tell her the truth.

He had been hiding the truth from himself for long enough, he couldn’t afford to hide it from anyone else anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

The wedding ceremony was an extravagant event, one that would most certainly have been to Draco’s liking, not that Harry was thinking about him, of course. This marriage was strictly about Ron and Hermione and there was no way that he was going to be spending the entire time thinking about Draco. He spotted Ginny at the entrance, greeting all of the people she knew and looking beautiful in her dress.

Harry tried to muster up a smile, tried to get his voice to work so he could tell Ginny how stunning the dress made her look, but all he could muster up was a weak excuse for a compliment and a hug while he whispered, “I need to talk to you about something important later,” in her ear.

She gave him a questioning look as he pulled away, but when she got no response, nodded her head and whispered, “Okay.”

As he walked through the open fields he remembered the times throughout the week that he’d come over to the Burrow as soon as he’d been free to help with the wedding. There had been a lot to help with–the food, the decorations–but Ron, Hermione and Ginny had already taken care of most of it. Harry had only helped to give the finishing touches. He was still astonished at how much they had managed to transform the fields at the back of the Burrow. The Winter Gala had been nothing when compared to this wedding.

Harry finally stopped as he caught sight of Ron and Hermione. His best friends were talking to the guests who were congratulating them. It was still too early to begin the ceremony, so they were thankfully free, which left them open to answering Harry’s questions. Harry asked them his question after they had enthusiastically greeted each other, and Harry had congratulated and teased them. He asked, “How did you two know that you were in love with each other?”

“What do you mean how? I knew for a long time, mate but it just took me even longer to realise it because I’ve got the emotional range of a teaspoon,” Ron said, letting out a laugh as he gave Harry a hard pat on the back. Harry forced out a chuckle because that hadn’t been the answer he had been searching for.

“That’s not what he means Ron,” Hermione responded with a roll of her eyes and then turned to Harry. “I think we had both felt it for a long time, but the moment we really knew it was during the war. I realised that I couldn’t lose Ron and that I was fighting against Voldemort and his beliefs, I was fighting against evil, and I was fighting for you, Harry. But most importantly, I was fighting for survival, and not for just for my own, but for Ron’s life as well. I wanted us both to survive so that I could spend the rest of my life with him.”

Ron looked at Hermione with an ecstatic, sweet smile. “I’ve never wanted anything else as much as I’ve wanted to be with you, Hermione,” Ron said, thumbing her cheek. Harry felt a pang of intense wanting go through him. He swallowed and asked the next question.

“What does it feel like–falling in love and being in love?” His heart was beating hard and fast. He needed to know.

“Why are you asking us this? You should already know, you’re getting married to Ginny soon, aren’t you, mate?” Cold sweat broke across Harry forehead at the words and he looked down from the happy couple’s eyes. “You aren’t getting second thoughts about it, are you?” Harry could hear the teasing lilt in Ron’s voice but couldn’t find it in himself to smile.

Little did Ron know how close he was to discovering the entire truth. “No. I just need to know.”

“Just answer the question, Ron,” Hermione said, nudging him.

“It feels like the easiest and most natural thing ever. I know it seems hard to believe, but in our case, we made it a lot more difficult than it should’ve been. We were best friends when we were kids, and I would have died for her then, but as we grew older and my feeling for her grew, I realised that I wanted to keep living for her. I wanted to grow old with her–”

“But how did you _know_?” Harry asked frustratedly. Neither of his best friends were giving him a straight answer. “How did you know that what you felt for each other was love?”

“I don’t know, Harry. I suppose when I kissed her…?” Ron trailed off and looked at Hermione.

She blushed lightly, a soft smile on her lips as she nodded her head. “I definitely knew I was in love with him after the kiss.”

So a kiss. That was how they knew. All he had to do was kiss Draco and then he would know. Everything would become clear and he would know exactly how he felt about Draco. But first, first he had to talk to Ginny.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry ran home. He wasn’t going to think of Ginny, wasn’t going to think of all of the names she’d called him, all of the things she’d accused him of. He wasn’t going to remember the way she’d slapped him across his face hard, or how she’d burst out crying before running away from him.

He had stared in her direction, tears prickling at the edges of his eyes and threatening to spill, before he had stood up and started to run in the direction of his home. No matter where he was, or where he travelled to, it seemed like he always gravitated towards Draco.

He entered into his house, not very different to the way he had done at the end of his date with Ginny, but this time, he didn’t look around for Draco or Aquies. He forgot all of his manners and walked straight into Draco’s room. He needed to kiss Draco, he _needed_ to know. Draco wasn’t in his room, so Harry decided to wait until he came back. It probably wouldn’t take him that long, he couldn’t have gone far.

Harry knew that he most certainly hadn’t gone to work since most of Draco’s articles were still scattered all over his desk. He huffed out a breath before he went over to the desk and began to clean it up. His hands trembled as he thought of Ginny and caused a few parchments of Draco’s handwritten articles to fall to the floor. He groaned as he went to pick them up but froze as the headline to one of the articles caught his eyes.

‘Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, an Adult Virgin?’

“What?” Harry whispered to himself as he read through the article. “Despite most common beliefs, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, Mr Harry James Potter, is still a virgin.” Harry blinked as bile rose up his throat along with disbelief. The entire article was written in Draco’s handwriting, but Harry refused to believe that Draco could have a hand in writing such a disgusting article. Draco had shown him the kinds of articles he’d written, about the Winter Gala and the rising Quidditch Stars, about the museum exhibition and the famous dinner he had recently attended. He was also sure to attend a charity ball soon.

This wasn’t Draco. There had to have been a mistake. He refused to believe it, until he saw the rest of the articles that he was holding. _‘Harry Potter Spotted Near the Ministry Building with a Baby’, ‘The Boy Who Lived Engaged to the Star Player of the Holyhead Harpies’_. Harry couldn’t breathe. As the article slipped from his hands, he stumbled backwards and sat on the edge of Draco’s bed.

The articles had had the word ‘anonymous’ written in Draco’s handwriting. It had been Draco all along, it had always been him. Harry had wondered who this anonymous writer had been, he’d suspected his friends, and even the Weasleys at some point, because who else had known about Aquies and Harry’s involvement with him? The words ‘illegitimate child’ suddenly popped into Harry’s view and swam around his vision. He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing, tried not to feel like the world was shifting and spinning on its axis, like the ground beneath his feet was tilting.

“Harry?”

Harry’s eyes looked towards the door. They looked at Draco, and he suddenly felt sick. Harry had trusted Draco, so much so that it had never even once occurred to him that Draco could have gone behind his back to do something like this. It had never once occurred to Harry that Draco fucking Malfoy _worked_ for the _Daily Prophet_ , Draco fucking Malfoy _wrote articles_ for them. He was also Harry’s roommate. It was the perfect fucking cover really.

Harry stood up. Draco opened his mouth to ask him a question but then his eyes fell onto the articles strewn across the floor. The articles were facing upwards so Harry knew that even from where he was standing, Draco could read their headlines and he could tell exactly what had happened to make that look appear in Harry’s eyes.

Harry waited. He waited for an explanation, waited for something, anything that would give him even a sliver of hope, something that would tell him that this hadn’t been Draco’s work, he hadn’t been doing this.

But Draco simply closed his mouth and swallowed.

Draco let his eyes fall to the floor, and Harry felt his heart sinking and hope drowning along with him.

Taking a deep breath, Harry put one foot in front of the other, took one step, then another, and then another, and walked away from Draco fucking Malfoy.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry hadn’t left his room for almost an entire week. He had locked the door and not once even thought of unlocking it. He only Apparated out of his room for food and water, and then directly back into it. He had the appropriate wards in place to prevent anyone from entering and had cast a Silencing Charm around it, but it wouldn’t have made a difference even if he hadn’t. Draco had not once tried to reach out to him or make contact with him, he hadn’t once tried to make Harry understand why he had done what he had done or explained himself.

He had gone about living his life as if it didn’t make even a bit of difference to him, as if Harry had never been an important part of his life. Harry still couldn’t believe what Draco had done, still couldn’t register the fact that Draco had stabbed him in the back. He still wanted to believe that all of this was a dream, that he hadn’t been betrayed by the very person who had become his life in the past month and who he had come to trust the most.

Maybe it had all been Draco’s plan from the beginning, to become Harry’s roommate and spy on him so he could find out more about Harry and write that information down to become famous. So he could gain pride and money and success. Killings had just been a cover, he’d just been pretending to be a bad boss so that Harry wouldn’t suspect what was really going on, so that Harry would pity Draco and feel for him, so that Harry would fall in–

He stopped that train of thought and closed his eyes. Letting his mind take over and make him remember. He remembered considerate and kind Draco, the Draco who had decorated Harry’s entire room and made him a basement training room. The Draco who had listened to and had been there for Harry’s breakdowns–first about love, and then about the Dursleys. He had calmed Harry down and made him breakfast the first time, and he had held Harry the second time. He hadn’t let go until Harry had pulled away and told Draco that he was okay.

Draco hadn’t walked away until Harry had. He hadn’t made a move to talk to Harry until Harry had. Draco always made Harry laugh, always made him feel alright. He suddenly remembered the very first newspaper incident, when Draco had initially begun to act weird. Harry hadn’t been able to figure out why; he hadn’t been able to figure out why Draco had been acting so strange for so many weeks, but it all made sense now. Everything made sense.

Draco’s expressions when Harry had apologised for his bad mood and behavior, when Harry had told Draco it hadn’t been his fault made _so much sense_. It _had_ been Draco’s fault, and the expressions that had shown on Draco’s face had been of guilt and regret. Maybe that’s why Draco had been acting distant and pushing Harry away. He hadn’t wanted Harry to be nice to him, hadn’t wanted to _feel_ for Harry, had wanted to keep their rivalry going.

But Harry didn’t believe it as strongly as he had before, not when his mind kept supplying him with more images. The way Draco had blushed when Harry had teased him about his coffee stained shirt and trousers, the way Draco had burst out laughing and fallen onto the floor when paint had dripped onto Harry’s forehead, the way he had chuckled at the Winter Gala when Harry had been so busy staring at Draco that he had spilled his entire glass of wine onto his suit.

He had taken Harry out for a date to the museum, for Merlin’s sake. No matter what Draco’s actual intentions had been, it would always be a date in Harry’s mind and heart. He would always remember it like that. How could this be the same Draco who had written those cruel remarks about Harry, who had had the guts to look Harry in the eyes and tell him to be more careful and to look around at his surroundings? The same Draco who had said that _Harry_ didn’t care about Aquies, when _he_ had written an article about him, had called Aquies Harry’s illegitimate child.

He was a hypocrite, indirectly hinting at Harry having had sex in the previous article, and then stating that Harry was an _adult virgin_ in the next. Harry had had no idea where the information he had shyly shared with Draco would show up. He had trusted Draco with that information, and Draco had done nothing but let him down. _He had let Harry down._

There had been so many people in Harry’s life that he hadn’t trusted, so many people had let Harry down, but Draco had never been one of them. He had always known what to expect from him.

Draco had never lied to him, and for whatever reason, Harry had implicitly trusted him. He had never in his wildest dreams thought that Draco would stoop this low. And for what? What reason could he possibly have to do something like this to Harry? Harry refused to believe it had been a favour for Killings after the way Killings had acted with Draco.

Harry remembered Ginny and Hermione talking about how Draco had changed, he remembered telling them that Draco hadn’t changed, that he was still the same. Harry had meant it differently back then, but he couldn’t help but think–what if he hadn’t? What else could explain the way Draco had acted?

A crash in the living room brought Harry’s focus back to the present. A cold shiver went down his spine. Another loud crash, followed by a wince and a groan got Harry onto his feet. He remembered Draco reading him the story book about the wizard, the dragon and the gold coins. _The wizard thought that the dragon was bad_.

 _“The dragon in the cave,_ _it sounds like you.”_

_“I wish I was, Potter.”_

Another loud noise and a soft moan made Harry close the distance to his door and open it for the first time in a week. He blinked in the darkness of the living room and stepped outside cautiously. He couldn’t see Draco anywhere. As he crept out into the living room, he almost stopped in his tracks, noticing Draco curled up and leaning against the sofa. Even through the darkness he could tell that there was something wrong with Draco.

Harry had repeatedly been asking Draco what was wrong with him for weeks now. He had been begging and pleading, but Draco had refused to tell him. He’d lied and told Harry that he was fine and that it didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter to Harry anymore, not after what Draco had done to him, but it still did. _Draco_ still mattered to Harry, and Harry still–Harry still–

He took his wand out and cast a lumos, making Draco look up and squint at him. Harry took a deep breath before he dropped down on his knees to see Draco properly. Draco blinked, and Harry could tell that his eyes were slowly adjusting to the light coming from his wand as they widened and stared at Harry.

“ _Harry_ ,” Draco said. Harry quickly looked away at that, until he heard Draco say, “I’m sorry, I don’t deserve to call you that.” It was the pain and the self-deprecating tone that made him look at Draco, and once he actually looked, he realised how blind he had been.

Draco looked miserable. The amount of hurt and pain that shown on his face, the vulnerability, Harry had never seen before, and Harry realised that this is what he had wanted all along. He had wanted Draco to open up to him and be vulnerable. But if this was what it took and this was how it felt to see Draco that way, then Harry didn’t want to see him this way.

“Draco,” Harry hesitantly reached out to touch him. His hand dropped as soon as Draco flinched though. “What happened to you?”

Harry was scared. He was terrified because of the way Draco’s face crumpled and he sharply jerked away, turning his face away from Harry. Harry halted his movements and realised that he’d been trying to reach for Draco again. He didn’t know what to do, he had never seen Draco like this, gripping onto the edges of his robes as if he were desperately holding onto the edges of his sanity, breathing harshly, his hair a mess, eyes red-rimmed.

Harry was scared for Draco, scared of what had happened to him, and at that moment, he didn’t care about what Draco had done, he didn’t care about the fact that he’d been counting the days and hours until his contract with Draco ended. He didn’t care about the fact that he’d locked himself in his room, refusing to make contact with the outside world except for the bare necessities, that he’d felt shallow and numb, as if he was just a mere shell of the person he used to be. He forgot about all of the time he’d spent sitting and staring at the walls and the ceiling of his room, about all of the time he’d spent thinking and thinking, until he hadn’t been able to think anymore.

He cupped Draco’s face gently and turned him back around so that he was facing Harry, thumbing away the tears that had made their way onto his face and had started to dry. He looked down at Draco’s lips and then up into his eyes. He forgot about everything, and for the last time, just one more time, he said to Draco, “Please just talk to me,” and watched as Draco’s walls broke down.

“You want to know what I’m not telling you, Potter? What I’m keeping from you? Why I don’t let anyone get close to me and keeping pushing people away?” Draco breathed, and Harry’s throat clenched as grey, dulled eyes looked into his before looking down at the ground. “You want to know why I keep pushing _you_ away?”

Harry didn’t dare to move as he nodded his head. Draco continued to speak. “If the war has taught me anything, Potter, it is that the more you care for someone, the closer you get to someone, the more ways people can find to control you, and to use the person you care for against you. I have seen people dying, have seen how broken people were when their loved ones died, how desperate they became, how willing to do every single task Voldemort gave them, no matter how cruel or torturous it was.”

“He used my parents against me, used me against my parents. We were terrified of losing each other, Potter, and I never want to feel that way again. I swore to myself after the war, that I would never let anyone else ever control me or make me feel used. I would never let another person be my weakness, and I would never let myself become anyone else’s weakness. I can’t, Potter. I cannot go through that again. I’m not strong enough.” Draco voice broke, and Harry pulled him into a hug.

He wrapped his arms into an embrace, feeling as if he needed this hug as much as Draco did. Harry had never known that Draco carried so much pain; he never knew that this was what went on in Draco’s mind every time he refused to talk to Harry.

But Draco didn’t let Harry hug him, didn’t let himself get pulled into Harry’s embrace. “Don’t, Potter. I still have to speak. There are things you must know, things I have to tell you.” Draco still hadn’t looked up at him, and Harry felt like shaking him. Harry felt like apologising to _him_ for ever having asked him to talk. Because it was already too late, Draco had already become Harry’s weakness, and now it was _Harry_ who wasn’t strong enough to listen to what Draco was going to say. He wouldn’t be able to hear out Draco’s entire speech.

“After the war, I lost everything. I lost my dignity, my pride, my family name. I had nothing except for myself and my family, Potter. I wasn’t about to lose that too. I wasn’t going to lose myself. You asked me why I didn’t go to St. Mungo’s or end up working for the Ministry. I _tried,_ Potter. I applied to both the places, but they did not accept me. I have had to spend the past three years that you were training, studying, and getting further education so that I could become successful, and then getting denied every job I was eligible for.”

“I got the writer’s position at the _Daily Prophet_ because Father had done a few favours for the people at extremely high positions in the _Prophet_ back in the day, and he wanted to ask for a favour in return. And despite what you may think, Potter, that favour was not getting the job, it was simply an interview, which they would only select me from if they found me worthy.”

“So when Killings told me that I’d lose my job, that if I didn’t do what he said, that he would fire me and I would lose my only chance at being worthy and successful, that I would lose everything all over again–” Draco inhaled a shaky breath, and as much as Harry wanted to, he resisted the urge to speak or interrupt Draco. He simply looked on and watched Draco as he continued. “–I let him control me. I broke my promise, and I wrote those articles about you, Potter.” Draco shook as he started to sob, and a feral instinct, some deep seated part of Harry just wanted to protect Draco from all the pain, he wanted to stop Draco from hurting. So he reached out to Draco, but was pushed away again.

“I know you want me to tell you that I wasn’t the one who wrote the articles, Potter. I know that you’re hoping for a better explanation, but there isn’t one. I had no choice. He was going to fire me if I did not give him an article about you each week, and I couldn’t– I couldn’t go through that again. I didn’t know if I would ever get any work after this, Potter. If I would ever get a job, and I–” Draco was heaving now, the sobs wracking his body, and Harry reached out again, wanting to just pull Draco close to him and offer him his support, and reassurance, and some warmth. But Draco declined the offer yet again.

“I was afraid, Potter. I was scared of being a failure, of not amounting to anything, and I let that control me again because– because I’m a fucking coward.”

“Stop.” Harry’d had enough, he’d listened to enough. He’d had enough of Draco pushing him away, listened to enough of Draco’s harsh insults and self-depreciation of himself. He couldn’t stay away from Draco anymore, and he wouldn’t listen to him being so critical of himself. “Just stop, Draco,” Harry said and jerked on Draco’s arm to pull him close to himself. “Stop pushing me away, goddammit, and let me be there for you, you idiot!”

This time, when Harry wrapped his arms around him, Draco didn’t push him away. He simply tensed up and glared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? Why didn’t you tell me that Killings was blackmailing you and making you do this?”

“And what would you have done, Potter? The same thing you did the last time? Just barge into my office and demand that he stop blackmailing me at once? I was handling things just fine, you would’ve aggravated him even more. ”

“And how exactly were you handling it, Draco? By having photographers take pictures of me wherever I went? By having them stalk Ginny and Aquies?” Harry realised he had lost his temper and had become angrier the more he had spoken. He was almost seconds away from lashing out at Draco. He couldn’t understand why Draco hadn’t just told him about this.

“I didn’t know,” Draco said softly and Harry only heard him because he was so close to him. “I didn’t know about the pictures, or that the photographers had followed you and Aquies. Killings never knew about my submissions until the last minute, Potter, so you’ve got to believe me when I say that–”

“I believe you,” Harry told him. “I trust you, Draco. I believe you.” And there was that expression on Draco’s face again. He’d had it when Harry had told him his bad mood wasn’t Draco fault, and he’d had it when Harry had repeatedly apologised to him. It was only now that Harry realised that the expressions hadn’t been one of guilt and regret. It had always been hurt and pain, _always_.

“I’m sorry, Potter, I never should have–”

“No, I am,” Harry whispered into his neck. “I’m sorry for not knowing and understanding you. I’m sorry for always pushing you to tell me what was wrong, pushing you until you reached a breaking point, but I was worried about you, Draco, and I care for you.” Harry held Draco tightly as he felt him trying to pull away. “I know you think that love is a weakness, but I’ve always found that it’s love that makes you stronger. It was how I won the battle against Voldemort. He tried to use it as a weapon against you, Draco, but don’t you see? He lost. He died, and you’re still here.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean that I’ve won Potter,” Draco sounded bitter and miserable, and Harry wished that there was something he could do to make Draco feel better. Where was Aquies when Harry needed him?

“Don’t say that.” Harry gently tilted Draco’s chin upward so his eyes looked into Harry’s. He momentarily glanced down at Draco’s lips. “Don’t. You’re wrong about everything. You aren’t weak, Draco. You’re the strongest person I know. You keep going to work and fighting against Killings every day, you keep working hard despite knowing what he thinks of you, despite knowing what everybody there thinks of you. You keep finding ways to want to be successful even when no one else wants you to be. You are _not_ a coward. You never were, and you’re never going to be.”

Harry had been wrong as well, he admitted to himself. Ginny and Hermione had been right, Draco had changed. This wasn’t the same Draco Harry had gone to school with, and it was about time, Harry thought, that he changed too. “I promise you, no one will ever control you ever again, Draco. Nobody will ever use you like that again.”

Draco’s tenseness returned, and he pulled away just slightly. Enough so that he could look at Harry’s face. “Why do you care, Potter? Why do you care so much about me?”

Harry’s heart raced as he realised that this was the moment of truth. He had to tell Draco. It was now or never. “Because I let you get too close to me, Draco, I let myself care about you, and now it’s much too late, and…and you’re my weakness.” Harry swallowed and said, “You’re my weakness, Draco, and I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Draco eyes widened in disbelief. “You– you’ve what, Potter? But– wait– what about She-Weasley? Aren’t you still engaged to her? Does she know–?” Draco tried to wiggle his way out of Harry’s arms, but Harry was determined not to let go.

“I broke up with her,” Harry said. He could still remember the way that she had slapped him, the way that she had looked at him, with all of the hatred of the world combined, and the way that she had run away from him crying. “I broke off the marriage and the engagement as soon as I realised the way I felt about you.”

The silence that prevailed and settled between them made Harry’s nervousness increase tenfold. He looked down, finally, unable to meet Draco’s eyes anymore, as heat gathered up in his cheeks. “I quit my job.”

“What?” Harry looked up, shocked. Draco loved his job, and Harry couldn’t think of a good enough reason for Draco to have quit it willingly. “Why?”

“I suspected there might be something I love more than my job,” Draco said, and Harry dared to meet his eyes again. They were bright and clear, and Harry noticed the smile playing on Draco’s lips as he said, “Or some _one_.” Harry’s heart began to race again.

“Who?” He asked, and Draco rolled his eyes.

“Who do you think, Potter?” Draco responded, and he was staring at Harry.

Harry stared back. Silence settling over them for a few seconds before Harry concluded, “So that invitation to the museum exhibition _was_ a date. I knew it!”

“You did?” Draco frowned. “I thought I’d been very subtle.”

Harry grinned at the sarcasm in Draco’s voice. “I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out, Draco, and the fact that you were right about Ginny. You were right about everything.”

“No need to apologise, Potter. It took me a while to realise it, too. I did not even intend for my invitation to the museum exhibition to be a date,” he admitted. “Also, I am always right.”

Harry rolled his eyes at that and asked, “Does this mean that you still owe me a date?” They were still tangled into each other’s limbs, but Harry wouldn’t have it any other way.

Draco huffed out an exasperated sigh. “I do believe that it is your turn this time, Potter. The Winter Gala was a nice try, but I’ll have you know that I’m not easily impressed.”

“The Winter Gala wasn’t–” Harry started to say, but Draco raised an eyebrow at him. “Alright, so maybe it _might_ have been a date.” Draco snorted. “Fine. Fine you unbearable arse, I’ll take you somewhere huge and fancy and impress the fuck out of you!”

A smirk suddenly appeared on Draco’s face. “I would believe that if you knew how to fuck, Potter, but I’m afraid it seems you’re lacking in that department, too.”

Harry’s jaw almost dropped at Draco’s words. He’d never thought of it before, but had Draco– had he ever–?

“You can shut your mouth, Potter. I was just teasing. You’ll be glad to know that I’m no more of an expert in that department than you are.” And Harry’s breath returned to his lungs.

“Wait, so you’ve never had sex before?” Draco shook his head. “Have you ever, um, kissed anyone before?” Draco froze at that and Harry realised then that the answer could be no. He had never seen Draco in a relationship with anyone in school, or even having a casual fling with someone. After the war, it had been impossible for him, with everyone knowing who he was. “You haven’t, have you?”

Draco’s lips twitched at that. “I have actually, Potter. A few tries by Pansy back during our school days, and it might have happened with Blaise once.” Harry stared at Draco, shocked again.

Then he decided to swiftly change the subject. “Where is Aquies?”

“He’s been staying with Mother and Father for a few days, but don’t worry, I have been visiting him fairly regularly.”

“I miss him. Can we go and meet him right now?” Harry asked. The sun had already risen up towards the horizon which meant that it was morning now, and Harry and Draco were free to visit Aquies. Harry wanted to see Aquies. It had been a while since he last had.

“Alright,” Draco said with a nod of his head, and they both untangled from each other, and stood up. Harry headed for the Floo as Draco dusted the dirt off of his clothes. “Potter,” he called, and Harry stopped and turned mid-step. “I do believe that we both need a shower and a change of clothes.”

Harry realised that Draco was right, and as he saw Draco walking into his room, the weight and reality of their conversation came crashing back to him. He knew that there was still a lot that they needed to talk about–still a lot of explanations to give, unsaid words to be said, and tears to be shed.

But that could all be saved for later, after they had met Aquies and brought him home with them, after they had had some rest and relaxed together. After– after. They had a long time for that now, didn’t they? Because Draco loved him back, didn’t he?

“Draco,” Harry called out without realising it, and as Draco turned to him and blinked, his hand on the doorknob, Harry couldn’t find the right words to express what he wanted to say, he never could when it came to Draco. He opened and closed his mouth for several seconds before sighing and giving up.

But Draco didn’t. He walked over, not stopping until he was mere inches away from Harry, and then said, “It’s you, Potter. It has always been you.”

And Harry quirked his lip as he looked up at him, and said, “It’s Harry, you prat.”

“Very well. Then I am in love with you, too, _Harry_ ,” Draco said, his lips widening into a smile and Harry wanted to do nothing more than to kiss the man standing right in front of him, in that moment.

In that moment, he realised how wrong Ron and Hermione had been. Falling in love wasn’t natural or easy. It didn’t feel right or simple. It was supposed to be difficult, a choice that he was supposed to make. Because falling in love with Draco was the most difficult choice he had made, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. So maybe that’s what falling in love was, knowing that falling for the person you love was the most difficult choice in the world, knowing that the road ahead of you would be a long and complicated one, but choosing to go down that path anyway. Making that choice, and choosing that person repeatedly until every power in the universe _had_ to admit that you both belong together.

That’s what loving Draco Malfoy felt like, and he didn’t even have to kiss him to find out, but now he wanted to. So Harry didn’t think about it. He stood slightly on his toes, leaned towards Draco, put his arms around his neck, and angled his own face upwards to–

 

 

The. End.


End file.
